


Love Changes Everything

by LadyGlinda



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Forbidden Love, M/M, Minor Character Death, Post-TFP, Shameless Smut, Sibling Incest, True Love, Watersports, holmescest
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-13 05:08:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 39
Words: 302,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11177697
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyGlinda/pseuds/LadyGlinda
Summary: After solving the "Final Problem", Sherlock goes to look after his brother. And they both find out something about each other that they had never considered to be possible - that they are both in love.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [scarletmanuka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/scarletmanuka/gifts).



Mycroft Holmes closed his eyes for a moment after Eurus had refused to stop her bloody game. Of course he should have seen it coming. After all she’d put them through, after all the pain she’d brought to Sherlock, not only today but with the friendly help of Mr Jim Moriarty over the past _years_ , their mentally ill sister was now forcing Sherlock to choose between him and John Watson. The guilty or the innocent. The older brother or the man he secretly loved. His past or his future. It was not even a question. “Well?” he said. _Let’s go..._

“Well, what?” Sherlock replied, looking puzzled.

“We’re not actually going to discuss this, are we? I’m sorry, Dr Watson,” he said to John, “you are a fine man in many respects. Make your goodbyes and shoot him,” he finished coldly after turning to Sherlock.

He knew there was no other way. Sherlock would never forgive himself if he had to shoot John - the widower with the baby who was now free for him. For years Mycroft had expected to see them getting together, even though he’d never been happy about the possibility. Sherlock had not spoken to him about it of course, they had never shared any secrets or feelings but Mycroft was pretty sure that Sherlock had been in love with the doctor for a long time now, without ever telling him though. He wasn’t exactly sure what Dr _I’m-Not-Gay_ Watson really felt for Sherlock but if the two of them survived this horror, they would at least have a chance to find out.

But Mycroft knew it would also be hard for Sherlock to kill his brother as they had been getting along with each other so much better since Sherlock‘s return from Serbia, even though they had not been exactly _close_. Nevertheless he had to make it as easy as possible for him to end his brother’s life. Besides, although he didn’t give a damn for this unimportant girl on the plane, nobody could know what Eurus would do to Sherlock if he just refused to shoot either of them. So he told them that Sherlock had to choose the doctor to kill as he needed Mycroft’s brain to get out. Surely this would be enough for Sherlock to turn against him. But not even John did and was ready to sacrifice himself, and Sherlock made no attempt to raise the bloody gun and looked down like an anxious child.

Mycroft decided that his brother needed more encouragement, and he went at it in a merciless tone. “God, I should have expected this. Pathetic. You always _were_ the slow one, the idiot. That’s why I’ve always despised you. You shame us all. You shame the family name. Now, for once in your life, do the right thing. Put this stupid little man out of all our misery.”

He knew that for the thankfully short rest of his life, these horrible words would eat at his soul like acid. He would die knowing that Sherlock would forever hate him for hurting him like that. Would this be his last deed on earth? Telling the only person that meant anything to him, meant, in fact, _the world_ to him, that he _despised_ him? Wonderful last words indeed. But he had to maintain the façade. “Shoot him!” He was surprised that his voice wasn’t trembling.

“Stop it,” Sherlock said hoarsely, finally breaking his silence.

He sighed internally and told Sherlock that John had no meaning to him, that he could be replaced anytime. This should work. But he should have known better, should have known Sherlock better. Of course the detective was too smart to fall for his lies. Still he couldn’t believe his ears as Sherlock again told him to stop. “Why?”

“Because, on balance, even your Lady Bracknell was more convincing.”

Mycroft froze. Feeling resigned yet somewhat proud of Sherlock’s cleverness, he listened to him explaining to the doctor that Mycroft had just tried to turn Sherlock against him so he would spare John’s life. What would his brother do now? He couldn’t name the feeling he had when Sherlock finally raised the gun and pointed it at him. That was what he wanted, right? And yet, for a tiny little second a voice in his head screamed: _No, don’t kill me, Sherlock, shoot him! Let’s get us both out of here and..._ But at once he silenced the treacherous voice. After all, this was how it had to be. Time to take the responsibility for the mess he had caused. Time to set his brother free. Nobody would miss him anyway. This thought was not self-pity but simply the truth.

He took a deep breath when Sherlock prepared to fire.Their looks met and Mycroft briefly thought that Sherlock looked at him in a way he had never seen from him before, an expression of respect and acknowledgement ( _and love? No but..._ ) in the green-blue eyes, and Mycroft made his peace with himself. Now he would go. He had enough faith in Sherlock and John to get out of this and go on with their lives together. And now that he knew that Sherlock didn’t believe his lies he could go at ease. Again he admired the affection in Sherlock’s eyes - warmth instead of the hate he had feared. This was more than he could have hoped for and much more than he deserved.

Stretching this unexpected moment, he asked Sherlock not to fire at his head. “I suppose there is a _heart_ somewhere inside me. I don’t imagine it’s much of a target but why don’t we try for that?” Another lie. He knew exactly where his heart was and it was _huge_. Huge with a never outspoken love he would take with him to the grave. If he was lucky enough to get one.

And Sherlock smiled at him, shortly but so _sweet_ , and it was making his heart light, and he smiled back. The newly ( _but too late_ ) found intimacy was interrupted by John again who told Sherlock that he wouldn’t allow him to shoot his brother.

Mycroft saw no choice than to finally admit his massive mistake. He told them how he had allowed his sister to ally with Moriarty in a five-minute-unsupervised-conversation and set in motion what the consulting criminal had brought over Sherlock. He looked down sheepishly when Sherlock lowered the gun in disbelief. He would never forgive himself for letting Moriarty tear Sherlock’s life apart like he’d done. Or for not having locked away their lunatic sister alone in a mountain, or better, in a _coffin_ under the earth... He had always taken care of her well-being, had made sure that she had what she needed, and she had paid it back by developing into a _monster_.

He was relieved when Sherlock finally seemed to be ready to release him out of his agony. “Goodbye, brother mine,” he said with a sly smile. Wondering if Sherlock could hear the tenderness he felt and the slight emphasis on the last word. “No flowers, by request.”

Their gazes burnt into each other’s once more but again the rare and last moment of intimacy was disturbed, this time by their damn sister who had to bring the bastard Moriarty up again. His mocking voice filled the room, and his ugly face appeared on the screen. Mycroft stared at him with disgust beyond words.

“And here we are, the end of the line. Holmes killing Holmes. This is where I get off.”

 _Do that you bloody freak_ , Mycroft thought. _Don’t spoil these last seconds any longer. Be proud that you brought us here. We’ll see each other in hell very soon_. _Where I will kill you again and again for eternity._

And then everything got out of control. Sherlock stared at him somewhat disbelievingly and said in a husky voice: “Five minutes? It took her just five _minutes_ to do all of this to us?!” He paused and turned around. “Well, not on _my_ watch.”

With this he put the gun down and Mycroft knew he was not going to kill him anymore. A feeling of knee-weakening relief, immediately followed by deep shame, flooded him, detached by pure terror when Sherlock said he was remembering the governor and pressed the gun under his chin, starting to count down from ten.

Mycroft felt as if an ice-cold fist was grabbing at his heart. Why the hell would Sherlock do that? Why didn’t he just kill him? Mycroft could not let this happen. But if he tried to get the gun out of his brother’s hands, it might fire. He almost shouted with Eurus together ( _No! No!_ _Sherlock!_ ), but he couldn’t get the slightest noise out of his dry throat. Everything seemed to turn into ice around Mycroft, his brain got numb as if he had been hypnotized. When Sherlock reached number four, Mycroft felt a sharp pain in his neck that brought him back to the terrifying reality. He reached up and touched a little metal dart. At the moment he pulled it out, he felt he was about to lose consciousness and he whispered his brother’s name when his legs gave in and everything went dark.

*****

Mycroft opened his eyes. Very slowly. He realised that he was feeling dizzy and tired, or better: drugged. The first thing he noticed was the total silence around him, and the room was half-dark. But he saw at once where he was: back in Eurus’ damn cell. Then he almost shot up from the bed they had placed him on. He was alone. Where was his brother? Desperately he tried to recall what had happened before he had passed out but the last few seconds were gone. Had his sister interrupted the countdown by putting Sherlock out of consciousness as she obviously had done with him? But if she had, where was Sherlock now? Or had he forgotten the sound of the shot that had killed the one person that counted?

“Sherlock?!” he shouted, but there was no answer. With long steps he went to the glass wall and hammered against it. “Eurus! Let me out!” He didn’t really expect a reply and got none. He turned back and realised there was something lying next to the bed. A big white envelope. Carefully he bent down and grabbed it. His name was written in strange childish-looking letters on it. Obviously it contained something soft and thick. With a deep breath he opened it up and found a piece of white paper wrapped around something his brain refused to recognise for the first moment. It was hair. Curly, dark, thick hair. Hair sticky from blood.

“No,” he whispered and rubbed desperately at the curls. “No, please, no... Sherlock...” His wide opened eyes flickered around and he saw there was something scribbled on the blood-stained paper, also in this silly handwriting.

_Hello Mycroft, I thought you would like to have that. I would have given you his head but it didn’t fit into the envelope. And well, there was not much left of his beautiful face anyway :)_

Mycroft stared at the words for minutes, refusing to understand. Then he dropped everything, turned around and ran against the glass wall with his head first. “You _bitch_!” he shouted so loud that it hurt his ears and just smashed his fists against the glass while he felt blood running out of his nose and his head hammering. “You fucking bitch, I’m gonna kill you...”

The outburst ended as fast as it began. He just broke down, tears started to shoot out of his eyes and desperation put its cold arms around him and drew him into a comfortless embrace while he let himself slide on the hard floor. His head was spinning, pictures of his brother with a gunshot wound at the back of his head, his beautiful eyes open and dead. Sherlock, dead... And pictures of the past, Sherlock as a little boy, looking up to him, as a teenager with narrowed eyes and despise on his face, as a young man, drugged and desperate...

He must have dozed off out of his total exhaustion because he was woken up by someone rattling at his shoulder.

“Sir, can you hear me? Are you injured?”

He looked up and saw a blond, young man in a police uniform standing before him and staring down at him with a look of concern. “No, I... I’m alright,” he said and let the officer help him up. _What’s another lie on the worst day of my life. Alright, my arse..._ He could hardly stand and felt dizzy, numb, dead.

“Are you Mycroft Holmes, sir?”

“Yes.” _What is left of him…_

The policeman took a phone out of his pocket and after a short moment, Mycroft, who still struggled to stand on his feet, heard him speak. “Detective Inspector, I found Mr. Holmes. Yes, he is conscious now but he had been bleeding and...”

Mycroft finally got his senses back. He grabbed the phone out of the surprised man’s hand and yelled into it: “Lestrade, is that you?”

“Yes, Mr. Holmes. How are you feeling?”

“Have you seen my _sister_?” He spat out the last word. He had no idea how the police had gotten to Sherrinford but somehow they seemed to be aware of what had happened here.

“Yes, she is under arrest. She told your brother where she hid Dr Watson, he was in a...”

“My _brother_?”

“Yes, _Sherlock_. Mr. Holmes, are you okay? My sergeant told me you were injured?”

“Sherlock is alive?” He still couldn’t believe it. Maybe this wasn’t a policeman standing next to him and he was talking to an imposter of Lestrade and this was all just another one of Eurus’ _bloody games_.

“Yes, of course he is! He is standing just about thirty metres away from me, totally uninjured. He was brought back to the mainland to your old parents’ house; we also found Dr Watson in a well nearby and rescued him. Shall I hand you over to your brother?”

Mycroft felt like waking up when he finally heard the noises that came through the line with the familiar, friendly voice of Greg Lestrade, people were talking in the background, a helicopter was flying. He realised that he had been fooled one last time but this was not it. Sherlock was alive. He was not injured. This was not his hair. Or at least it was not his blood.

He felt his knees getting weak again, this time out of pure relief. He put a hand on the young man’s shoulder to not fall on the floor again and gratefully noticed a strong arm wrapping around his waist and  holding him up. He could not talk to Sherlock now, not in this condition.  “No, it’s alright. I... will be in touch with him later.”

“Alright, and what about you, do you need help?”

“No, I’m okay. I just hit the glass wall when I tried to... escape. It’s nothing.”

“That’s good, I will let your brother know. Listen, do you agree with us bringing your sister back to Sherrinford? Sherlock has explained a lot to me about what happened there but I figure it will still be the safest place for her at the moment. Our helicopter can bring her anytime.”

 _You can just shoot her and burn her where she falls_ , he thought, but he didn’t say it. “Yes, please. I will make sure there won’t be a repeat. Goodbye for now. And thank you for everything.” Mycroft gave the phone back to the officer and straightened up. He would take care of Eurus even though unfortunately this only meant locking her up really safe this time. And then he would go home and get a good night’s sleep. Tomorrow he would be back in his office. Back to normal life. He left the cell on shaky legs, and then he collapsed on the floor.

*****

Sherlock entered John’s flat, throwing himself on the nearest arm-chair. He had never felt so exhausted in his entire life. And not only physically. This day had sucked all strength out of his mind and body. All he wanted to do was sleep. Not in his bed of course as someone blew his flat up, which already seemed like a lifetime ago. He had spent the last three nights in John’s guest room but somehow he wasn’t feeling too comfortable with that solution. It had nothing to do with John or Rosie, it was just that he didn’t feel like being in the right place.

“So, that was a cheery, little adventure, wasn’t it?” John took the seat opposite of him. He had just looked after the sleeping baby; the teenage girl who had babysat her had left with the biggest pay cheque of her life for the long hours she had taken care of Rosie that day.

“Sorry?” John words were trickling slowly into his mind. “Oh, yes. Very cheery.”

“Is everything alright with you? I mean, I was the one who almost drowned in a well with human bones in it but at least I didn’t have to spend one more minute with that lovely sister of yours,” John snarled.

“Sorry? No, you weren’t.” He didn't need this conversation now.

“Well, you are a little bit uncommunicative right now, aren’t you? But anyway, would you like a cuppa?”

“Sorry what?” Couldn't he just stop talking now? “Oh, that would be nice, thank you, John.”

Sherlock didn’t look up when John left the room, mumbling something he didn’t understand. He was glad to be left alone, even if it was just for a few minutes. There was so much to process after this bloody day. And his thoughts just kept going back to his brother and he realised he couldn't just drink tea and then go to bed without having checked on him.  He had texted him as soon as he had gotten his phone back from Eurus but he hadn't received a reply. But he could do something else. He sent a message to Detective Inspector Lestrade.

_Have you made sure Mycroft is looked after? SH_

To his surprise Lestrade called him back after a minute instead of replying. “Hi Sherlock, well, right after we had spoken your brother had a little breakdown, but he...”

“What? How is he? Why didn’t you let me know at once?” Sherlock sat up in his chair, his free hand grabbing the armrest. He had known it. Mycroft had been so much out of his own mind on this day.

“I was a bit tied up, sorry. And actually, when I arrived on the island he was doing better and had his own cavalry over already. He is okay, just some bruises as he apparently collided with a glass wall. Last thing I saw of him was when he got onto the helicopter, he didn’t want any company.”

“You promised me he wouldn’t be left alone, Greg!”

“It’s nice that you can suddenly remember my name. Yes, I did but in the end he is an adult, and a pretty scary one by the way. He’s not severely injured or a danger to anyone including himself so there was not much I could do. But of course I should have called you right away, I’m really sorry. Perhaps...”

“Yes?” Sherlock snapped while he was vaguely registering the cup of tea that John was putting on the little table next to his chair.

“You know, he is really not physically affected beside a hurt nose and a bump on his forehead but I don’t think he should be alone now. I guess you were right when you said that he was not as strong as he thinks he is. He seemed indeed very upset even though he tried to hide it.”

“Yes, that’s typical for him.” He saw John mouthing a question, probably what he was talking about with whom, but he just shook his head indignantly. “You’re right, I will go over to him right now and will stay there.” _No matter what Mycroft wants..._

“I’ll have to pull you in tomorrow, all three of you. I need your testimony about all that happened today.”

“Yes yes, I’ll let you know when it suits us. Goodnight, Gary.”

“ _Gre_... Never mind. Goodnight, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sent another quick message to Mycroft. Even if he wasn't in the mood to answer he might read it.

_Are you at home now? How are you? I’m coming around. SH_

“You are going to whom? Mycroft, right?” John asked, almost barking at him. “I thought you were staying with Rosie and me until Baker Street is back to all its glory.”

“I’m sorry, John, thank you for your hospitality but I think my brother needs me now.” _Who would have thought that I would ever say that?_

“ _Needs you_? Are we talking about the same guy? Who said he despised you not so long ago and called you the family idiot? Who is known as the _Iceman_ for good reason?”

“Well, John, I think it is pretty clear that he did not mean what he said in that moment. I already explained to you that he thought for whatever reason that he had to save your life by making me angry enough to shoot him. And I know you think _what goes around comes around_ but obviously Mycroft is having a hard time after all that happened, and despite the fact that he’s indeed not innocent that it _did_ happen I will make sure he’s okay. And don’t you ever call him _Iceman_ again!” _Because today he has finally shown that he is not..._

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, of course you’re right,” John sighed. “I’m behaving like an idiot. I can only blame that on the stress of this bloody day.”

“I’m sorry, too, John, it was really just a horrible day.” _Understatement of the year..._

He didn’t bother showering or changing his clothes as he felt an urge to see how his brother was doing. He packed his things which didn’t take long. Two days before he had replaced the most needed clothes and bought some basic stuff like toothbrushes and shampoo. It all fit well in his small traveling bag.

John accompanied him to the door. “If anything goes wrong, you know, if you don’t feel comfortable or he doesn’t want you around or whatever, you can always come back.”

“Thank you John, I really appreciate that. We will see or at least text each other sometime tomorrow, alright?”

“Sure. And... please tell him that I thank him. And that he shouldn’t worry anymore.”

“I will. Goodnight John. Oh, and Lestrade wants to see us tomorrow. We have to sort out a time.” With this he left, still waiting for Mycroft to reply to his text.

*****

Sherlock was standing in front of Mycroft’s huge house which lay in total darkness. Obviously his brother didn’t bother answering the doorbell. Or was he not even here? Sherlock didn’t have much choice than to use his key and find out. Even if Mycroft wasn’t at home he would stay and wait for him in the living room or occupy a guest room. He was still totally exhausted but he doubted that he would be able to sleep.

“Mycroft?” he shouted when he entered the silent house. He slowly walked through the hall and when he reached the living room, he heard a quiet noise. After dropping his bag, he carefully entered the room. It was completely dark, and he took a deep breath and switched on the light. His brother was sitting in an armchair with a drink in his hand, still in the suit he had worn all day, now totally crumpled, and there were stains of blood on his shirt. His pale face was swollen up, his nose looked like he had smashed it with a hammer, and on his forehead he had a huge bump. His eyes were half-closed, without any life or his usual sarcasm in them. In short, Mycroft looked horrible. Sherlock made a mental note to strangle Lestrade later.

“I thought you’d be turning up here, though I haven’t expected you so soon,” Mycroft broke the silence with a raspy voice.

Sherlock was too shocked to get a word out.

“I’d have thought for today you’ve had enough cheerful contact with your siblings. But anyway, let’s get it over with, start shouting at me.”

“Oh my God, your nose!” Sherlock finally managed to say. “Is it broken?”

“Do you really think it could look any worse than it always has? There’s only so much damage you can do. But no, the paramedic that Lestrade insisted on looking at it said it’s not broken. Apparently my forehead cushioned most of the impact.”

Sherlock finally stepped closer to him, took a chair and lined it up opposite of his brother. He sat down and looked closely at the ugly bump. “Did they make sure you don’t have a concussion?”

Mycroft just shrugged. “They cooled it with some ice. The nose, too. And I just had some painkillers. That should do it.”

“Took them with alcohol? Great idea, Mycroft!” Sherlock was getting angry. And very concerned. “What did you do anyway, did you try to run through the glass? You did lose weight but you are not invisible yet. And you didn’t remember there was a door at the other side of the cell that we went through before?”

“Well, I must have forgotten. Was probably locked anyway. And I wasn’t really thinking clearly after I…” He broke off.

“After you did what?”

Mycroft took a sip of his drink, scotch as Sherlock supposed. He wasn’t surprised that his brother didn’t offer any to him. Obviously the fear of death was not good for one’s hospitality.

“Well, Eurus had placed a nice gift in the cell. An envelope with bloody hair in it, with a note that said it was yours, and that she had only bothered to include it because it was too difficult to fumble your skull into the sleeve.”

“My God…”

“It was not your hair as I can see now that you’re not bald, and of course I should have known it was just a trick to torture me. If you had really died she’d have probably put your _eyes_ in there. If there had been enough left of them that is …” His last words were spoken in such a husky voice that Sherlock barely understood them. “Why did you point the bloody gun on yourself, Sherlock? It was all sorted, we were clear, you knew I wanted you to shoot me!”

“I would have never fired this gun at you, Mycroft,” Sherlock said very deliberately. Even thinking of this horrible situation made him sick at the stomach again. Had Mycroft really thought he was going to shoot him? For a stranger up in the sky? That hadn’t even existed as it turned out? He cleared his throat. “Of course I didn’t want to kill John either, as he is a new father and well, my friend. I thought pointing the gun at me was the best solution to get us all out of there in one piece. I was pretty sure Eurus would not let me kill myself.”

“And what if you had miscalculated? If she hadn’t intervened?” Mycroft’s eyes finally came to life. He leaned forward in his chair und stared at Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged. _Then I would possibly be dead now... But you’d probably still be alive and that’s all that matters..._

“God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry I caused you to go through all this,” Mycroft’s voice suddenly seemed to break and he buried his sore face in his free hand. “I can never make up for this mess. I’m so glad you were so smart to bring us all out there alive, that you could save John and you can finally be happy.”

Sherlock’s heart almost broke at the sight of Mycroft blaming himself. “You didn’t make our sister like that. See what you made me into. If she’d been stronger, she wouldn’t have taken this path.”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t want to talk about her,” Mycroft said quietly. “I just hope you can accept my apology for now.”

“Of course. But there’s no need for it.” Sherlock stood up and Mycroft did the same.

“I'll bring you to the door,” Mycroft offered while Sherlock said: “Let’s go to the bathroom so I can take care of your face.”

“Oh.” Mycroft shook his head. “I can do that alone, Sherlock, thank you. I’m sure you want to go home now and...”

“Home? You forgot there was a little explosion in my flat the other day?”

“Well, of course not. I meant you certainly want to go to John’s and...”

“Actually, why I came here in the first place...”

“Yes?”

Sherlock took a deep breath. “I was wondering if I could stay here until 221B is built up again.” He saw the surprised expression in his brother’s eyes and hastily added: “Of course you won’t see much of me, I mean, you'll be at work all day and I'll have to watch over the work at the flat and help out there and solve cases and... you would only have me around in the night so I thought...” He broke off when the expression on his brother's face turned from surprise to total confusion.

“I don’t understand. I thought... you and John... now that he... I mean...”

Sherlock couldn’t remember whether he had ever heard his brother searching for words. But he was just as confused. “Me and John? Now that he is what... out of his well? Finished beating me up because he blames me for Mary’s death? Looking for a babysitter? What?”

“He... _What?_ He beat you up?! Why did you not tell me that before?!”

Mycroft’s voice had gotten louder with every word so Sherlock stepped back a little, surprised about his brother’s rage. “It was nothing, really. No need to run to my big brother to tell him to hit him back. Everything is fine now. And if you don’t want me to stay, of course I’ll leave and go back to him, it’s no problem.”

Mycroft suddenly grabbed his arm and Sherlock winced at the strong hold. “Sherlock, of course you can stay. As long as you want to. I was just surprised.”

“Fine. Now let’s go to the bathroom, okay? Your face needs some care, and don’t be offended, this suit suits you very well but it stinks.” He looked down at his own which did not look exceedingly better. “But I’m one to talk, I haven’t changed clothes either.”

Together they started their way to the bathroom upstairs. “Have you managed to buy everything you need before our lovely excursion? As I suppose there’s not much left of what was in the flat?” Mycroft asked.

“Yes, most of it. Probably need some more suits but I have one I can wear tomorrow.”

“I do have some pairs of jeans if you want to try them. I guess my suits are a bit too conservative for your taste…”

“You wear jeans?!”

“Only when I’m relaxing. And yes, I do relax sometimes.”

“You’re full of surprises today, brother mine!” He imagined his tall, slim, distinguished brother in tight blue jeans, and he liked the picture.

“What about socks? And pants? Shoes?”

“Got some, don’t worry, _Dad_.”

“Fine. You can use everything in this house and if you need anything else, let me know and I will have someone get it for you.”

*****

Two minutes later Mycroft sat down on the edge of the tub and watched Sherlock wet a flannel. His brother was behaving as if he took care of wrecked, hurt men every day.

“I will clean and disinfect the wounds first and then you can take a shower or a bath. And after that I will apply some medicine for it to heal and to make this pretty bump go down.”

“Yes, mother.” He chuckled when Sherlock raised his eyebrows. Then he closed his eyes and hissed when the wet, warm fabric was put carefully over his aching forehead and even softer around his nose.

“You okay?”

“Of course. Go on with the treatment, Dr Holmes.”

“Maybe I should have brought John with me...”

“Please no. He would probably just press my poor face under boiling water,” Mycroft mumbled. He was aware that their conversation about the doctor was not finished. But learning that he had hit Sherlock had shocked and confused him. How could Sherlock get into a relationship with someone who had done this to him? And did he want that at all? Why would he come here to stay with him instead if he wanted to be with John? He could have just asked his brother but he was sure that Sherlock wouldn't tell him anyway.

“Alright, now the disinfection spray. I’m glad that you have one as I’ve forgotten to bring some over. It might hurt a little.”

“I’m not a toddler, you can... Ouch!” _Damn, that really hurts..._

“Well, will you be a brave boy? ... Good, I’m finished. I will wait until you are out and take a shower myself if you don’t mind. Or do you need help?”

“Sherlock, the day I need help to step into my shower is the day you can really shoot me.” He froze when he realised what he’d just said. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, that was not an appropriate thing to say. Thank you for your help, and of course you can take a shower, don’t even bother asking me for permission for anything. This is your home as long as you wish to stay.” With his face burning from more than the disinfectant he went to a cabinet, took out two bathrobes and handed one to Sherlock.

“Why did you do it?” he heard Sherlock ask when he was unbuttoning his vest.

“Do what?” he asked even though he was pretty sure what the question was about.

“Why did you want me to shoot you instead of John?”

“Well, actually I told you to shoot _him_.” _And a part of me did mean it..._

Sherlock didn’t say anything and just looked at him, standing before him, arms crossed and obviously insisting on an answer.

Mycroft sighed deeply and threw his vest on the floor. Sherlock had been right, his clothes were stinking, as well as himself. It was embarrassing that he had not taken care of himself before. “Do we have to discuss that now?” He really didn’t want to talk about Sherlock’s feelings for John Watson now. Or ever again.

“No, of course not,” Sherlock replied and turned around. “I will wait in the living room until you are finished.”

“You don’t have to, I’m really silly. You can just use the bathroom downstairs.”

“Fine.”

“And there is a guest room with all you might need. It’s...”

“I will find it. Goodnight, Mycroft.”

Mycroft sighed internally. “Goodnight, Sherlock. Not sure if I’ll see you in the morning as I have to get up very early. But the fridge is equipped with everything you need for breakfast so please help yourself.”

“Fine, thank you. Goodnight then.”

“Sherlock, wait. We will talk about everything, I promise. But it’s... too hard now.” He hated to admit it, to show him that he was hurt. But he didn't want to offend him, either.

“I know, I’m sorry, brother. Sleep well.”

Sherlock smiled at him and Mycroft felt a warm glow in his heart. He watched his brother leave the room, then he undressed as quickly as his exhausted condition allowed him to do, and soon after he was giving into the sensation of hot water pattering down on him. Despite the pain in his face and more or less everywhere in his middle-aged body, he was feeling so much better now. Sherlock was alive, he was alive, and Sherlock was here with him and even planned to stay. Perhaps this nightmarish day would prove to have been exactly what Mycroft had needed to finally develop a better relationship with his brother. He wouldn't get up his hopes too high though. It was a miracle that Sherlock had obviously forgiven him the mess he had caused. It didn’t necessarily mean that they would get along in future. Given their past, that was rather improbable. But for now he was content with how things had turned out.

Fifteen minutes later he slid under his warm blanket. But he realised that he was fully awake after the shower. Brushing his teeth hadn’t helped either as it had increased the pain in his nose. He had skipped shaving for tonight and felt a little uncomfortable with the stubble. He sighed and wondered what Sherlock was doing now, if he’d found everything he needed. He didn’t even offer him a drink or some late dinner, he suddenly remembered. “The master of hospitality,” he growled in the silence. But he was sure Sherlock would help himself with everything he required.

He closed his eyes after a glance at the alarm clock on the bedside table. In less than five hours he would have to get up to go off to work. Great. But he might call it a short day and leave early. He would scare everyone off with his damaged face anyway. He only had to survive the interrogation by Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin about the Sherrinford incident. Thank God the PM was out of the country at the moment.

He startled when the door opened after a short knock. “Mycroft, are you still awake?” he heard Sherlock ask and tensed.

“Yes, of course. Is everything alright? Do you need anything?” He reached out and made light.

Sherlock came to the bed with a small tube in his hand. He was dressed in the bathrobe, his hair still damp from the shower. “I totally forgot that I promised you some medicine for your wounds. I brought it along from the pharmacy before I came here.”

“Oh, that’s nice but you didn’t have to bother.”

“Believe me, it will help you. John always applies it on me when I had a little accident.”

“You mean after he has beaten you up?” Mycroft bit his tongue. “I’m sorry. It is none of my business.” _And I could still strangle him for it..._

“You wanted me to shoot you because you thought, and still think, that I love John,” Sherlock stated calmly.

 _Here we go._ “Yes. I mean... You say I _think_ that. Is it not true?” _Because, if I was wrong about it, what did I try to sacrifice myself for?_

“He’s my friend, that's it... Well, lately not a very good friend. But he was today, don’t you think?”

“Yes, indeed. He was very brave and I really respected him for it. That was before you told me that he...”

“Oh please, it was only once, in a very difficult situation. Actually twice, when I returned from Serbia, he was not amused... But really, we are sorted. But I am not in love with him. Not at all.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I thought you had found now... the right partner. I’ve always figured that you two would someday end up together.” He didn’t bother mentioning that this thought had almost been killing him. “All I’ve ever wanted was to see you happy.” So much was true. But his voice almost broke and he hated that.

“And what the hell made you think that I could ever be happy again if I had to kill you?” Sherlock said surprisingly loudly.

“Better me than him, I thought.” He almost choked at the words. He just couldn’t deal with that now. “Please Sherlock, let me sleep now, I have to get up so early.”

“No, you don’t. I texted Anthea from your phone and told her that you had been hurt and will take the next two days off, and then it’s the weekend so you’ll have four days to recover. And by the way why didn’t you reply to my text?”

“You did what?! How dare you decide that over my head?!” Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears.

“She said it was no problem at all, she will take care of all urgent matters and will let your colleagues know. Apparently it was a quiet day today and nothing’s really in the line. Beside what happened to us, of course.”

“But...” Mycroft didn’t come far with his protests.

“I sent her a picture of your face, just in case Lady Smallwood thinks you are just skipping work.”

Mycroft looked at him, disbelievingly. This was getting more grotesque with every second. “You...” He hadn't even noticed that Sherlock had taken a photograph.

“Please, brother, you may have a concussion. You cannot go to work, you can hardly walk,” Sherlock said in a very earnest tone. He almost seemed to _beg_. _Is he really worried so much about me?_

“I’m feeling much better now after the shower.” _Yes, right. I feel as if had been hit by a bus instead of a tank as before._

“That’s good but you still look a bit scary. You would just make everybody run away from you. Even faster than usual.”

“Thank you for the compliment. I will have to go to the office anyway in the afternoon to explain today’s mess.”

“To Lady Smallwood I suppose?”

“To her and Sir Edwin, yes. I called her when I was still in Sherrinford to have people sent over for setting things right. And she wasn’t too happy with my explanations so I'll have to show up at the tribunal.”

“Well, she will have to wait until Monday.”

“No, she won’t. The appointment is at two o’clock. The sooner I get it over with, the better.”

“Well, maybe the state of your face will help you get some sympathy from her. She might not only forgive you right away but even want to comfort you and take care of your wounds. Or more...”

Mycroft gave him a wry smile. “I suppose she’d love to but I’m afraid she isn’t my type at all.”

“And your type is?”

 _Oh Sherlock, I could never tell you..._ “What is yours?” Mycroft shot back without replying. Apparently not John Watson...

Sherlock’s face seemed to shut down. “Anyway, you can at least sleep longer and after you’re through with the inquisition you can come back and rest some more. Besides, I guess Lestrade wants to talk to you, too?”

“Yes, he said so. Probably it will be taken out of his hands by our lot soon but as he was involved in sorting this mess out, he deserves some information.”

“I will tell him to come over here around five o’clock, does that suit you?”

“I guess so. They should be finished crucifying me by then.”

“Good. John will come here as well. And then he can have a look at you. Just to make sure it’s nothing more serious.”

“Oh please, it’s just...”

“For me?”

Mycroft sighed. “Alright. Seems it’s going to be a full day anyway...”

“Be happy that our parents will return from their holiday only at the end of next week. That gives you some time to prepare for their rage.”

“Do they have to know? Eurus is back where she belongs and...”

“Yes, they do,” Sherlock said firmly. “I understand why you didn’t tell them the truth so far but after all that happened... They could find out by themselves as you never know if the press gets aware of it. And I think Eurus should see them. She needs their support.”

“Support? What this lunatic needs is... Never mind. I don’t wish to see her ever again. But you are right, I should tell Mummy and Father. They can decide for themselves. And so can you.” _Although I don’t understand why you should want to comfort her after all she did to you._

Sherlock looked at him sadly, then he came closer. “I will. And now let me apply this.”

Mycroft just gave in, leaned back against his pillow and closed his eyes. He felt Sherlock’s warm hands on his face, applying a strange-smelling liquid that cooled the wounds on his nose and his upper face. The touch felt so comforting, so good. He could have lain like that forever, just enjoying the feeling of Sherlock’s long fingers on his skin. Too soon Sherlock was finished and looked at him with a confident smile.

“So, we will do this every day now and soon you will be your old handsome self.”

“Oh, I didn’t know this was magic stuff.” Mycroft felt suddenly embarrassed. The last thing he thought of himself as was _handsome_. But Sherlock, the really handsome Holmes brother, was surely just mocking him a bit. He couldn’t deny though that he felt sort of _flattered_ and that was just embarrassing. “Did you find the guest room? Is there everything you need?” he changed the subject.

“Yes, but I won’t sleep there.”

“You won’t?”

“No, and please don’t start another discussion. I’m staying here with you. I mean it, you might have been more injured than you will even admit to yourself in your fight with the glass wall, and if you need help tonight I don’t want to be in a room on the other side of this ridiculously big house of yours!”

Mycroft couldn’t believe it. Sherlock wanted to spend the night next to him. In his bed. But of course his intentions were just too innocent. _And my thoughts should rather be, too..._ “So you are going to be my night nurse?” he tried a light tone.

“Exactly. So just sleep now.” He slipped out of his robe and threw it over a chair. He was naked except for tight black shorts.

Mycroft swallowed hard and turned his head away from him so fast that his neck made a terrible noise. “Um, why don’t you suit yourself with pyjamas, I'm sure mine will fit you.”

“No, thanks, I'm fine. Goodnight, brother mine.” He switched the light off and slipped under the blanket.

“You said everybody would run away from me.” Mycroft felt sleepy all at once, as if Sherlock’s presence had been exactly the comfort he had needed. Even if the thought of him wearing only a tiny piece of fabric was a little... _disconcerting._

“Yes, well, that wasn’t very nice but you do look pretty frightening. I mean, even more than usual.”

Mycroft smiled in the dark. “But _you_ didn’t run away,” he mumbled before he finally started dozing off.

“No, Mycie... I will never run from you,” he heard, then he was out.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's the second chapter, and things will get more interesting from here on ;) Thanks to everybody for commenting and leaving kudos, it's highly appreciated!

Sherlock saw his brother falling asleep from one second to the other. He had to be really exhausted. Sherlock watched him closely, his eyes slowly getting used to the darkness. He had not seen Mycroft sleeping since he’d been a child, his features had softened and he looked so much younger and so vulnerable and just so _cute_ in his old-fashioned but certainly very expensive pyjamas. Sherlock just looked at him for a long time, and then, knowing that it was not really the right thing to do but unable to let it be, he reached out and ran one finger very carefully over the fine line of an eyebrow, a stubbly cheek and a delicate ear and the perfectly shaped lips, avoiding all the injured parts, and then he caressed the dark hair on the bit he could see of his chest. Mycroft was sleeping so tightly already that he didn’t react at all.

“Goodnight, brother mine,” Sherlock whispered, leaned forward and breathed a feather light kiss on these beautiful, soft lips. His entire body was shaking when he rolled on his side. He had dreamt of doing that since he’d been around fifteen years old. And this short kiss stolen from a more or less unconscious man would be everything he’d ever get from him. Carefully he moved closer to Mycroft and after a moment of hesitation, put his arm lightly on the blanket over his belly and snuggled against his shoulder. He just lay there and listened to his brother who was breathing a little too noisily through that smashed-up nose but was sleeping still undisturbed by Sherlock’s actions. Sherlock felt the sleep coming to him as well, even though he didn’t want it to. He would have rather heard Mycroft breathe all night, smelled his freshly showered skin and just enjoyed him being so close for the first and certainly last time. When he had to give into his total exhaustion, he pressed another soft kiss on Mycroft’s neck and followed him into dream land.

He had no idea where he was at first and how long he’d been sleeping when he was rudely woken up by an arm hitting his face.

“No, Sherlock... Don’t, shoot me... Shoot him... No, Sherlock...”

Sherlock sat up and switched the light on. Terrified and not quite awake he looked at Mycroft, who was sweating and breathing heavily and was apparently having a horrible nightmare. It was easy to guess what he was dreaming about. “Mycie, wake up, it’s fine, everything’s fine,” he said, touching Mycroft’s shoulder, shuddering at the firm warmth under the pyjamas.

“What? Oh, Sherlock, I just dreamt...”

“Yes, you were speaking in your sleep, I know where your mind was,” Sherlock said softly and touched Mycroft’s face gently. “It’s alright. We’re all safe.”

Mycroft looked at him with a wry smile and he took his hand away. “Yes, I know.” Then his eyes narrowed. “Your cheek is so red, what...”

“You just hit me a bit when you tried to escape from your dream. Nothing to it.”

“Oh God, I’m sorry.” Mycroft shook his head, then moaned and put a hand on his forehead.

“Do you still have a headache?”

“A little. Don’t worry. How late is it? Six o’clock, great, the time when I usually get up.”

“You won’t today. You just lie down again and try to get back to sleep. I will watch over you so you won’t have nightmares anymore.” Sherlock bit his bottom lip. _What a great thing to say..._

Mycroft looked at him curiously and got up to rest on his elbow. “Watch over me?”

“Never mind. Just try to catch some sleep. Your nose is looking better by the way and I could swear the bump has become a bit smaller already.”

“If you say so. Magic stuff indeed then.” Mycroft made no attempt to lie down again and instead kept on watching him with an expression that made Sherlock very nervous. He knew he had given away too much. Not knowing how to change the subject without making Mycroft wonder about him even more, he hastily reached for the light switch and the room went dark. He let himself fall back into the pillows even though he knew he would not find back into sleep anymore. After a moment Mycroft leaned back again as well in the darkness. There was silence for a moment but Sherlock just knew Mycroft had not closed his eyes.

“You were really willing to die?” he suddenly heard him whispering. “You were ready to die so you wouldn’t have to shoot me... or John?” he added but it was clear he was not talking about the doctor.

Sherlock blinked. He should have seen this coming. “Yes, I was.”

“Why, Sherlock?” Sherlock tensed when he felt a warm hand grabbing his biceps. “You knew I was the one to blame for everything that happened, you knew what Eurus wanted you to do, why did you risk your life... for me?”

Sherlock would never know if it was just the after-effect of all he had gone through the past day, or having seen his brother so shaken up when he had arrived in his house, or the fear of having lost him forever before Lestrade had told him that he’d been found alive, or simply all these years of longing for his brother, of having cared for him so deeply without ever being able to tell him, of hiding his feelings behind the façade of the annoying younger brother, but whatever it was, it broke all his barriers.

“Because I can’t live without you,” he blurted, directly facing Mycroft now even though he couldn’t see him well in the dark room. “Because I don’t give a damn if I live or die if I lose you. Because I fucking love you. You, not John!” He could feel thick teardrops running down his cheeks. “I’m sorry, Mycroft.”

His voice had turned into a whisper with the last words and, feeling totally embarrassed and like the dumbest fool on earth, he made an attempt to climb out of the bed and just _flee_ when an iron hand grabbed his shoulder and pulled him back. Moments later he was getting embraced by two slim but strong arms, pressed against a warm, firm chest, and Mycroft’s voice murmured in his ear: “Oh God, I love you too, Sherlock.”

Sherlock couldn’t believe his ears but snuggled into the embrace for a moment, shocked and happy and amazed beyond words. Then he stiffened and shook his head, figuring that Mycroft had not understood the nature of his feelings. “You don’t get it, Mycroft,” he said out of the need to set things straight, despite knowing that he would be torn apart the next minute. “I’m not talking about brotherly love, brother!”

“Neither am I,” Mycroft whispered and drew him even closer, pressed small kisses on his temple and his cheek. “I love you, desire you, so much, for so long.”

“My God,” Sherlock mumbled, feeling dazed from the sudden shock to hear words he had been fantasising about for such a long time but had never expected to hear, “what a great dream, just don’t wake me up.”

He heard Mycroft chuckle and his brother urged him to turn around so they were facing each other. “It’s not a dream, Sherlock, it’s real, as unbelievable as it is,” he said and stroked his face, and then his lips kissed Sherlock’s, very carefully and softly, and then he gasped when Sherlock finally slung his arms around him and kissed him back.

 _This is not real, no matter what he says, I’m dreaming or hallucinating, so I will enjoy this moment as long as it lasts and I hope I’ll never get back to reality..._ He opened his mouth and let his tongue slide between Mycroft’s lips, it was met after a moment by Mycroft’s, and they kissed more and more passionately. Sherlock was pressing his almost naked body against Mycroft’s, feeling his brother’s heat and hardness through the pyjamas he still wore, feeling his own cock swell in his shorts like his heart was swelling in his chest. _Oh my God, this is so good, it feels so real but soon it’ll be over... What is this, is he crying?_

“Ouch, Sherlock, sorry, my nose...” Mycroft reached for the light and when the room went bright again, Sherlock saw a few drops of blood under his nose, and now he could taste it on his own lips.

“Oh my...” he stuttered.

“I’m so sorry, here, I will wipe it off,” Mycroft said, reaching out for a box of tissues on his nightstand.

Sherlock just stared at him, unable to say a word.

“It’s fine, Sherlock, see, it’s gone, I’m healthy and...”

“It really happened, it was real,” was all Sherlock could say and think.

Mycroft looked at him, puzzled. “Yes, of course. You were not freaking out because of the blood?”

“Blood? Oh my, let me help you,” Sherlock finally came back to his senses and jumped out of the bed, only to return with a wet flannel after half a minute. He had almost run against the bathroom door in his hurry and totally confused status. Mycroft had leaned back into his pillow again and silently endured him cleaning his face very carefully. After that Sherlock applied the medicine once more, not forgetting the bump. “I’m sorry I made you bleed again.”

“Don’t worry. I’m fine, really. We'll just have to be a little more careful when we kiss until my nose has healed.”

Sherlock stared at him. He still couldn’t believe it. “You want to do that again?”

“Do what? Kissing? Oh Sherlock, you don’t want to go on? I’m sorry, I thought...”

“No, no, of course I want to! I want you! But I never guessed you would... I mean... Isn’t it also one of those law things? Not that _I_ care about it, but don’t you?” He waited breathlessly for his brother’s answer. He hated to have to bring this up but he didn’t want to see Mycroft change his mind after getting even closer. That would just kill him.

Mycroft smiled at him. “I know how crazy this all is. But the craziness obviously runs in the family. As well as being criminal.”

After a moment they both burst out laughing almost hysterically and when he had calmed down, Sherlock finally allowed himself to believe that this was indeed real. Mycroft loved him. He wanted him.

He looked into his older brother's eyes and laid a hand flat on Mycroft's cheek. For a long moment they just looked at each other, finally without any masks on their faces. Sherlock let him see how he was feeling, let him see the love, the desire, the need, and he saw all the same in Mycroft's eyes. Neither of them said a word, and then Mycroft smiled and sat up to embrace him, tenderly stroking his bare back with both hands. “I just wish our first kiss had been a little more romantic. Even though it was very memorable of course.”

Sherlock blushed. “It wasn’t the first.”

Mycroft pulled back to look at him. “No? Am I really hurt more than I think? How could I have forgotten?”

“I... kissed you... when you had fallen asleep.”

Mycroft smiled. “Oh Sherlock, why didn’t you tell me about your feelings?”

“And why didn’t you?”

“I know. It’s amazing how silly we both are. We can deduce everybody under the sun but we missed _this_ about each other?”

“Amazing indeed. But can you deduce what I want now?” He realised that he was flirting with his brother.

Mycroft looked at him in pretended thoughtfulness. “I would say you want to be kissed a little more.”

“See, not so silly after all...”

Their lips met again, very carefully, and then Sherlock pushed Mycroft gently back into the pillow, and then he crawled on the bed and let his body rest on Mycroft's, very carefully, moaning when Mycroft cupped the back of his head with his big hand. He pressed his lips on his once more, and they started exploring each other’s mouths intensely, carefully avoiding any nose contact. With every meeting of their lips, a hurtful sentence they had said to each other seemed to get erased, every gentle touch on hair or cheek or neck seemed to make a moment of feeling pushed away by the other one vanish from their souls, and every tender tangling of their tongues was a promise for a future spent together, filled with love and passion instead of resentments and pain.

Finally it was Mycroft who broke the kiss. “As much as I would love to do that for the rest of my life non-stop, or maybe something even more wonderful, I think we should try to catch some more sleep.”

Sherlock thought that of course his brother had to be the reasonable one, as he had always been. He didn't want to stop now, wanted them to merge together, kissing him until the end of time. But he could see how exhausted Mycroft was and there was no point in torturing him. Not anymore... “You’re right. We want you to be fresh before they tear you into pieces. But please, one more kiss!”

“Okay. Only because you asked so nicely.”

After more minutes of soft kissing Sherlock put his head on his brother’s chest and enjoyed his tight embrace. He let his hand slide under Mycroft’s shirt, rubbing his hairy chest and touched a very erect nipple. He just couldn't wait to explore his body.

“Sherlock...” The protest was weak but rather desperate. Clearly Mycroft was thinking the same, but his physical status wouldn't allow him to follow on it.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

“We will do everything you want, I promise. Just not...”

“Not now, I know. Sleep tight, brother mine.”

“You too, Sherlock.”

But he needed to be sure. “And when we wake up, it will still be real? Promise me?”

“Promised. I love you, Sherlock. And don’t worry, I may sound as if just accepted what's happening but I can guarantee you that it’s like a shock to me, too, after fantasising about it for so long. But it’s real, and it will be great. I just want to be really awake to process it. To cherish it.”

“Will we... have sex?” _Please say yes_...

“Oh, a whole lot of it. But not...”

“Not now, okay. When everything’s sorted in the afternoon?” He knew how hungry and desperate he sounded. But he couldn't wait. He had waited so long...

“If I survive that, yes. If you are really ready for it.” Now Mycroft did sound as if he couldn't believe it.

“Oh God, yes, I am… I love you too, Mycie.”

*****

It was almost noon when Mycroft opened his eyes again. He was awake in an instant when he saw Sherlock sitting on the chair opposite of the bed, fully dressed with a black shirt and Mycroft’s newest blue jeans, freshly shaven and looking outrageously great. Mycroft was just too aware of his own deranged status and felt embarrassed for a moment. But Sherlock smiled at him and his wonderful bright eyes sparkled with joy and love. “Good morning, sleepy head,” he said softly, stood up and came to the bed.

“Good morning, Sherlock,” Mycroft replied. Sherlock came close and was obviously about to kiss him but Mycroft backed away. “No, please.” Mycroft saw Sherlock’s smile fall apart and hastily added: “As much as I’d love to, please let me first shower and shave and brush my teeth, and after feeling like a human being again I will kiss the living hell out of you!”

“Oh, sure.” Sherlock’s smile was back. “But I made breakfast, well, it’s rather lunch now.”

“You can cook?!”

Sherlock looked at him sternly. “Not really,” he admitted then and smiled. “But I’m not swamped by making sandwiches and coffee.”

“Of course not. You’re Sherlock Holmes after all.” Mycroft lifted his aching body out of the bed. His head was hammering and his nose still felt sore. He tried not to show the pain but he caught Sherlock staring at him with a concerned look. “I’m fine, really. We’ll eat first, and then I’ll take care of my morning hygiene.”

“And then we’ll kiss.”

“Absolutely. And then, off to battle.”

“You should rather…”

“I know. But I can’t. Let’s get over with this day and then it’s just the two of us for the night and the next three days.” _My God, that sounds so wonderful…_

“That sounds wonderful,” Sherlock said reverently.

All at once giving a damn about his looks or the state of his breath, Mycroft took him in his arms and kissed him.

*****

Two hours later Mycroft was standing in front of a conference room where some important people were waiting for him. They were not exactly his bosses but had as much power as Mycroft had, and he knew he definitely owed them an explanation for the Sherrinford disaster. Unfortunately he was not really able to concentrate on the matter. His headache wasn’t much help but the distraction that Sherlock represented was much more powerful.

Mycroft had arrived at the office feeling like walking on clouds, and not only from the five painkillers that he had taken in the privacy of his bathroom. He was just severely in love and it wasn’t anymore the painful longing for someone he’d thought he could never have that had weighed on his life for the past twenty years. Now he knew his feelings were reciprocated, and while that still appeared sort of unreal it was flooding his heart with an emotion so strong he’d never thought he was capable of. He guessed he should feel awkward and guilty and scared about being in a relationship with his brother even though they had not done anything else but kiss so far. But it just felt so damn right and it made him so happy. He could simply not wait to finally be alone with Sherlock and explore just everything they had missed for so many years. He was absolutely determined to make up for that as well as he could. He would take it easy at first though, presuming that Sherlock didn't have any sexual experiences, and the last thing he wanted was to scare him off. But he needed to finally show him his love and how much he wanted him.

He had gone through some matters with Anthea who had seemed to be the only one to notice that something was different about him, besides his damaged face. It had been harder than he’d thought to keep his trademark deadpan expression when all he could think of was Sherlock’s smile, the way he kissed him, and his sexy, slim body he would start exploring later. He caught Anthea looking at him curiously several times but she didn’t say anything of course. Mycroft was relieved that there was really nothing in the line that couldn’t wait or be delegated so all he had to do was to get through the bloody meeting and then head back to Sherlock, and yes, to Lestrade and John. And after _that_ meeting…

When he was about to enter the room his phone chirped. He smiled as he saw that Sherlock had texted him.

_Be brave, brother dear. Just imagine them without pants. No, forget that, imagine ME without pants. SH_

_Thank you for the suggestion but it might not be helpful to stand there with an erection. MH_

_Yummy, nice image. See, now I’m the one with the hard-on. But seriously, be strong. I’ll cross my fingers that it works fine. SH_

_Thank you, brother mine. I’ll go in there right now. Can’t wait to get home to you. MH_

_Me neither. So hurry up with your apology. And don’t let them rip you apart. Remember you promised me a lot of sex. SH_

Mycroft found himself grinning from ear to ear. If the day before anyone had told him that today he would feel like a hormone-driven, head-over-heels-in-love-teenager because his brother sent him naughty texts, he would have just rolled his eyes. And now? He was about to get a mental beating but all he cared about was Sherlock and what they were about to do with each other. Anyway, it was time to go. He put his phone on mute, took a deep breath and opened the door.

*****

Sherlock had decided that he couldn’t just sit in Mycroft’s empty house all day, waiting for his brother to return. So after spending some productive time at Mycroft’s laptop, he went to the grocery store to get some cake for the tea with John and Lestrade. After storing it in the kitchen, he took a cab to Baker Street to see how the clearing work had progressed. To his unpleasant surprise the flat already looked much better. The rubble had been removed and the workers were busy building new interior walls already. Sherlock was not happy about that at all. The faster the flat would become habitable again, the sooner he would have to move back in. He knew he couldn’t continue living at Mycroft’s house once the renovation of 221B was finished. Even worse, John would move back in with Rosie, too. They had decided that after their reconciliation and Sherlock could not just cancel the arrangement.

And all this was because, as he was absolutely aware, nobody could get to know about his relationship with Mycroft. Never. With anyone else he could just walk hand in hand and proclaim his love publicly. Not with his brother. They’d have to be so very careful with everybody. And with John and his daughter in the flat Mycroft could never stay over. Mycroft’s house would be their only refuge and it would be difficult for him to stay there all night without making John wonder. In all his joy about their new found love all of this made him very sad. But he was more than willing to make it work anyway, to find as much fulfilment as possible with the one man that had ever really mattered to him. He just knew that they were meant to be together. For the rest of their lives. And he knew that Mycroft felt the same way even though they hadn’t had the chance to talk about it properly. Some things didn’t need to be spoken out loud to be sure of.

After sending his last message to Mycroft, he went downstairs to Mrs Hudson. She welcomed him heartily and served tea and double-chocolate cookies. She was terrified when he told her about the day before and his forgotten sister.

“Oh Sherlock, what a nightmare,” she said and patted his hand. “I’m glad you have John at your side to help you over those horrible incidents.”

“Well, um. Do you want some more tea?”

“Thank you, darling. And what about Miss Hooper? Have you explained everything to her? How’s she feeling?”

“Um, can I have another cookie? Thank you very much. They are delicious.” He had texted Molly while he and John had waited for Eurus to be brought away. John had insisted on that. Sherlock had explained the phone call but she had not answered and he had actually totally forgotten about her. All he had and did care about was Mycroft’s well-being and about getting down and dirty with him. But that was nothing he could tell his landlady, who didn’t like his brother anyway.

She let him get away with changing the subject and proudly told him about the _fine work_ on the flat and how fast it was progressing. “So I don’t think it will take long before you can move back in. And John and Rosie of course. You will be such a lovely modern family!”

 _I could tell you a lot about modern families..._ “Well, I don’t know. I think I would like to have some amendments on the flat if you don’t mind.” He had no idea which ones as he didn’t bother at all about interiors and furniture and all that but it seemed like a good idea to delay the move as much as he could. Of course he was just the lodger of the flat but he knew he was like a son to Mrs Hudson and she would do anything to please him.

“Oh, what would you like to be changed?” his landlady of course asked him.

“I’m not sure, perhaps I will consult an interior decorator. So don’t let them hurry the rebuild, we don’t want to have to make changes later.”

“I understand. By the way, I’m coming over to you this afternoon, John asked me to look after Rosie. You won’t be there then I suppose?”

“No. Actually... I don’t live at John’s flat anymore.” Sherlock knew he had to tell her.

“Oh, why not? And where have you moved to?”

“Um, I’m staying at my brother’s house. He has a lot more space and he’s not doing very well after what happened yesterday. He needs some attention.” _And he'll get it. Loads of it._

“That’s very nice of you. I’d never thought you cared that much about him. You two never seemed to get along so well?”

“Well, yesterday changed that quite a bit. He’s not as bad as I thought.”

She patted his hand again. “You are growing up, Sherlock, that’s good. As much as I have to say I do have some problems with his attitude, your brother really likes you and it’s wonderful that this trouble brought you closer together.”

 _You have no idea how close._ “I absolutely agree. I’m sorry, but I have to go and look after him. If I don't watch over him, he will not take care of himself. I will be a bit tied up the next couple of days but I will see you latest next week.”

“Do you have an interesting case to solve?”

“Yes, a very interesting one, but it’s a secret. Goodbye for now, and thank you for the cookies.”

At this moment his phone chirped and he grabbed it to read the text.

_I’m out of the lion’s den. Still in one piece, it went pretty smoothly actually. Now I’m having a short meeting to delegate some work, then I’ll come home. Can’t wait to see you. MH_

Sherlock took his coat and headed to the door.

“You look happy.”

He turned around. ”Sorry what?”

Mrs Hudson smiled at him. “Someone important just sent you a message.” It was not a question.

“Well, yes.” Suddenly he felt pretty uncomfortable and nervous.

“I can see when somebody is in love. Your eyes brightened up in that special way when you read the text. I’ve always thought it had to be John, but it seems I was wrong.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks blush. This conversation had caught him totally off guard. He cleared his throat. “Yes, well, I really have to go see him now. I mean...” He broke off when he realised what he had just said. He looked at her, unable to speak, his head spinning, his heart hammering in his chest. Was this really happening? Had it really taken him less than a day to give their secret away? Why not just wear a t-shirt with the slogan _I’m shagging my brother_?

For a moment that felt like ages the old lady and he stared at each other, and Sherlock felt the blush turning into fire. Then she smiled again. “Don’t forget, Sherlock, whatever makes you happy, really happy, is the right thing for you. No matter what the circumstances may be or how difficult it gets. Love is all we have in the end.”

 _My God, yes, she knows it… and she doesn’t care…_ “Mrs Hudson,” he stuttered, not knowing how to continue.

“Oh Sherlock, don’t you know me? You’re like a son to me. I’d never do anything to hurt you.”

Sherlock made two long steps back and kissed Mrs Hudson on the forehead. “Thank you. For everything.” With this he left the flat, there was no way he could have spoken about it to her. And of course he couldn’t tell Mycroft as he would freak out and certainly stop doing anything with him (if he didn’t just kill him right away). But somehow it made his heart lighter to know that there was somebody who knew and didn’t condemn them.

*****

Mycroft opened the door with his key and turned around to see the car that had brought him drive off. He stepped inside his house, shut the door, put his umbrella in its place and hung up his jacket. “Sherlock, are you there?” His brother seemed to appear out of nowhere, wrapped himself around him and lovingly kissed him. Of course Mycroft leaned into the kiss and they went at it until they were both breathless. Mycroft was happy that his nose behaved this time. He couldn’t say the same about his cock of course but who cared about that.

“Wow, what a nice way to come home,” he finally said and took Sherlock’s face in his hands. They just looked at each other silently for more than a minute while Sherlock let his hands slide up and down his back and Mycroft drew circles on his wonderful cheekbones with his thumbs. Mycroft had never felt like that. Nobody had ever come to the door to kiss him, his house had always been (a rather luxurious) place to spend the short time between his work duties. It had never been a home. And soon enough it would be the same again, he realised. Sherlock would have to go back to Baker Street as it would be impossible for him to stay at Mycroft’s house without causing suspicion from actually everybody who knew them. But he didn’t want to think about that now. They would enjoy their time together and of course find a way to see each other as often as possible once Sherlock would be away living in his rebuilt flat with John Watson. That last thought was especially demoralising, and Mycroft pushed it away. But he would have to deal with the doctor anyway today.

Mycroft embraced Sherlock again and kissed his cheek that was red from his efforts. “I assume John hasn’t arrived yet?”

“No. He will soon enough. So will Lestrade.”

“Well, Lestrade was told that the Sherrinford matters are none of his business as I predicted. He will come here though because of the Evans case. You know, our poor guy that got shot by which Garrideb? I can’t remember.”

“I think it was Alex.”

“Yes, right. The case is unsolved like Eurus said, and Lestrade wants to close the file. I’m sure he will try to get more information on what happened yesterday anyway so let’s do him the favour.”

“You like him, don’t you?” Did he really sound jealous?

“Well, he’s a good cop as you know,” Mycroft said with a fake American accent. “And quite a looker, too.”

Sherlock raised his brows. “Is there something I should know? I made tea, maybe I’ll find some poison for his cup.”

Mycroft chuckled and pulled his brother even closer in his arms. “Let him live, brother mine. He can’t compare to your beauty even on your worst day.”

“That was a strange compliment. But come on, sit down, you look tired. How did it go today? And what about your headache?”

“Alright, another inquisition,” Mycroft said with a smile and let Sherlock lead him to the sofa in the living room. “Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin were indeed a little upset.”

“You mean pissed off?”

“Sherlock! But yes, they were pissed off. Thank God though it was just the two of them, which made it easier. I’m glad the PM is on a state visit in the US. I just told them as it was. The whole painful story.”

Both of them had been terrified by the evil that Eurus represented. That and Mycroft’s deranged looks had certainly helped him get away with rather mild reproaches, and it had also helped that Eurus was now safely locked away and didn’t say a word anymore; Lady Smallwood had insisted to call the man in charge at Sherrinford to check on Eurus’ status. They had asked to bring Sherlock along as he obviously connected with his sister in a fascinating way but Mycroft had firmly told them to keep his brother out of the matter as he had suffered enough from Eurus’ and Moriarty’s hands. He had agreed that MI5 should sort out all open questions and security matters of Sherrinford and that Scotland Yard should not be involved more than necessary.

The entire meeting had only lasted about forty-five minutes but after that, Lady Smallwood had held him back from leaving immediately. _“You look different_ , _”_ she had told him and had stared at him in a disturbing way. _“Well, I look as if I’d had lost a street fight,”_ Mycroft had answered in a poor attempt to make a joke, but she had shaken her head _. “It’s more than that.”_ She had looked rather disappointed when his only answer had been an indifferent smile, and then she had finally let him go. Mycroft had wondered if all women were capable of seeing if a man was in love with somebody, but had been more than happy to be off the hook, in more than one way. He had gone back to Anthea to clear some more questions and then finally left.

“And your head?” Sherlock insisted now. They were sitting as close as possible on the sofa and Mycroft had put his arm around his shoulders, enjoying the tight grip around his waist.

“It’s still attached to my neck.”

“Mycroft!”

“Look, it’s okay, my nose is not as huge as yesterday anymore and I don’t show any signs of a concussion. I’m fine as I’ve told you many times already.”

“John will have a look at you anyway. I told him what happened to your face and asked him to bring his doctor’s equipment.”

“I can’t wait.”

“You will behave?”

“Why? He knows I’m not too fond of him, and he hates me. It would not be a good idea if I acted like a different person now, would it?” They had not spoken about this problem yet. Mycroft knew it was not necessary. It didn’t need the brain of Sherlock Holmes to figure out that their relationship had to remain a secret to everybody.

“I know,” Sherlock said quietly.

Mycroft squeezed him tight and kissed his temple. “It’s hard, don’t ever think for me it isn’t. But there’s no other way. I swear I will put all my efforts in this relationship but...”

“You mean after your job?”

“No, Sherlock. You are my priority now. Of course there will be challenges in this way, too, but never forget that it’s you who matters the most to me.” _And you’ve always been_.

Sherlock smiled at him and his heart immediately lightened. They met for another wonderful kiss.

“He doesn’t hate you,” Sherlock finally said.

“John? Yes, right.”

“No, he doesn’t. He’s just protective.”

Mycroft swallowed down the words he was about to say; that Doc Watson would find out the hard way how protective _he_ could get if John ever laid his hands on Sherlock again, no matter in which way.

Sherlock must have read his mind. “I shouldn’t have told you that. It doesn’t matter, really. Please don’t bring it up in front of him.”

“I simply don’t understand why you...”

The doorbell kept him from finishing his sentence. “It’s him,” Sherlock said. “I asked him to come a little earlier than Lestrade.”

“The earlier the better,” Mycroft grumbled and got up.

Sherlock hit him on his butt. “I asked you to behave.”

Mycroft sighed deeply while they went to the door. “I will, but only if you make up for it later.”

“And how are you suggesting I should do that?” Sherlock asked him with sparkling eyes.

“I’m sure we’ll find a way.” Mycroft bent over and kissed him on the lips. “Many ways actually.” Then he opened the door even though it was the very last thing he wanted to do. “Dr Watson, please come into my humble home.”

“Oh!” John said with wide opened eyes. “Look at you!”

He hummed something which Mycroft assumed was a line of a song that sounded vaguely familiar. By instinct he turned to Sherlock and saw him shooting a _murderous_ look at John Watson. It was in this moment that Mycroft became fully aware of the intensity of Sherlock’s feelings for him. But instead of being allowed to drool over that, he had to quickly touch his brother’s wrist to get his attention, and he slightly shook his head to keep him from saying something he rather shouldn’t.

John, who had obviously missed Sherlock’s fury, stepped into the hall and put his doctor’s bag on the floor. With a grin he got rid of his coat and handed it over to Sherlock who still looked as if he’d rather put it over John’s head and kick him out. Mycroft couldn’t help but smile and Sherlock grimaced at him and stepped aside to hang up the coat.

“Well, seems to me that today I’m not the soldier but the doctor, Mycroft. A glass wall did that to you? You should sue it! This way?”

*****

Sherlock watched the two men going to the living room and forced himself to behave as normal as possible. He had never felt protective about his brother as he had never seemed to need it. But hearing John making light of his injuries had almost caused him to fail to play the part. He would have to watch his actions; he had been very lucky that Mrs Hudson had reacted the way she had but John was a completely different matter.

He took a deep breath and followed the guys. They were in the middle of the examination already. Mycroft was sitting on his chair and John was having a look at his forehead and then aimed his doctor’s flashlight on Mycroft’s eyes. “Alright, looking good. Have you thrown up?”

“No.”

Sherlock noticed how disgusted Mycroft looked and smiled.

“Feeling dizzy?”

“In the beginning, but not anymore.”

John nodded and seemed to be satisfied. “I think your head is okay. The bruises are not pretty but in a couple of days most of them will be gone. The headache is normal after such a crash and, as you said it has already gotten better, I think it will be gone soon, too. Here is a sample of some stronger painkillers if you need them and some balm for your nose. Let me take your blood pressure though as you look very pale and your pulse is pretty fast.”

He was all professional now and Sherlock felt his own pulse slow down. When he was about to take a seat, the doorbell rang again. “I’m going, it will be Lestrade.” The inspector was a little early but Sherlock didn’t mind at all. The sooner this little meeting would be over the faster he could get hold of Mycroft. The thought made his pulse speed up again.

He asked Lestrade in and showed him to the living room.

“169 to 95, well, that’s a little too high,” John was telling Mycroft when they entered the room. “Probably it’s just the aftermath of yesterday’s shock. But anyway you should take it easy the next couple of days. Drink a lot of water and rest. If it is still so high next week you will probably need constant medication.”

Sherlock bit his lip. That didn’t sound as if the long weekend ahead would be a feast of passionate lovemaking. He looked over to Mycroft who winked at him with a small smile. It was amazing how they suddenly always knew what the other one was thinking. Sherlock shrugged. At least this would give him a fine excuse to stay at Mycroft’s side. That he needed this excuse still annoyed him enormously, but he guessed that he would have to accept that. This was a social rule that would never change. _To hell with people and their stupid rules..._

“Alright guys, I will keep this rather short,” Lestrade brought himself to memory. “I was told that I shouldn’t bother about the murders at Sherrinford which I actually expected after I saw the Secret Service was already in charge when I arrived there.” He looked at Mycroft who just smiled. “But the Evans murder is still open and I would like to know everything you learned about it there.”

“That can indeed not take very long as all we had was the pictures of the three brothers Eurus had provided us with and the gun, and we deduced who had to be the murderer,” Sherlock said.

“Tell me more.”

“Okay,” Sherlock sighed. He hated to talk about old stories, especially if he had more important things on his mind. How to have sex with Mycroft without causing him to have a stroke, for example.

“Sherlock?”

“Oh, sorry. Alright.” He told Lestrade how exactly they had come to the conclusion that only Alex could have been the murderer. In the meantime Mycroft shooed John to the kitchen to fetch tea and cake and the doctor seemed happy to obey. Lestrade was not too impressed by what he heard as nobody could explain how Eurus had figured out that one of the brothers had to be the guilty one in the first place.

“Didn’t she say if the police had brains, they would have found out?” John said while providing everyone with a piece of the cake.

Sherlock grinned. “Yes, I think she did.”

Lestrade sighed. “She’s a Holmes, that’s for sure. Is there any chance I could talk to her? She didn’t say a word when we arrested her but maybe now that...”

“No. Nobody gets through to her,” Mycroft interrupted him. “It would not make any sense.”

“You don’t want me to talk to her?” Lestrade snapped.

“You can torture her as much as you wish if you think it will help you to get some answers out of her. Help yourself. All I want is to save your time. I was told she does not talk at all anymore.” His tone made very clear that he thought that this was good news.

Sherlock was surprised at the pure hatred in Mycroft’s words. That was something they would have to talk about sometime. Sherlock knew that Eurus could never be let out of prison again, but he felt obliged to see her there and try to get through to her. He wanted to understand how a member of his family could have become so evil. And as much as he trusted Mycroft to have made the right amendments to keep her under control now, he would like to talk her out of planning any more destruction, should she ever get the opportunity. And perhaps he was the only one who could make her a better person and bring her back into the family. He would have to ask Mycroft to see her. But not this week. They would have other things to do...

Lestrade seemed to accept Mycroft’s refusal and they drank their tea and ate the surprisingly good cake. They were talking about more pleasant matters when John’s phone rang. It was Mrs Hudson who told him he should better come home because Rosie didn’t stop crying after her daddy. “Well, looks like I gotta dash. Where’s my coat?”

“I’ll get it for you.”

“You still plan to stay here, Sherlock?” John asked when they reached the door.

“Yes. Somebody has to look after my brother.”

“Alright, you seem to get along better than I thought. By the way, I got a call from a client who said you haven’t answered to his email.”

“Oh, well, I have not been to a computer lately and I... had some problems with my phone.” Both statements were pure lies. Sherlock just didn’t care about people and their stupid problems at the moment. Not that he usually did, but he didn’t care about puzzles, either, except for the six-feet-one-tall puzzle that was waiting in the living room. “We will talk about it next week, okay?”

“So I won’t see you at the weekend? Should I not tell you what Mr. Miller’s concern is?”

“No, not now, I think I will just take some days off after all that happened. I’m still feeling pretty exhausted.”

“You do look very pale, too. Shall I take your blood pressure...”

“No! I mean that’s nice of you. But I just need some sleep, that’s all.”

“Since when do you sleep?”

Sherlock felt the sudden urge to put his hands around John’s throat and slowly press the life out of him. He hid them behind his back. “I decided to look after myself a little better from now on,” he declared.

“That sounds great.” John didn’t seem to buy it but he didn’t nag any further. “Gotta go, we will talk... sometime then.”

“Goodbye John, and thank you very much for looking after Mycroft. He didn’t want to see any other doctor but you.”

“Oh really?” John looked sceptical but flattered. “That’s good to know. Okay, bye for now and take care of him and yourself!”

 _Oh I will..._ Sherlock shut the door behind John and went back to the other two. Lestrade was standing up when he came in. “I think that’s it for the moment. It was a good idea to look for the ammunition for the murder weapon. I hope I will find it where you said it is.”

“It is, trust me,” Mycroft said. “Sherlock, would you get Greg’s coat?”

“Sure. What do you have a houseboy for.” Mycroft gave him an amused glance and Sherlock grinned at him. After showing Lestrade out he went back to Mycroft with long steps. “Finally alone, brother mine...” At this moment he heard the doorbell again. “Oh great. Which one of these imbeciles has forgotten something? Or does Inspector Columbo return with another question?” he grumbled and turned around to go back to the door.

“Neither of it, I suppose,” Mycroft said mysteriously and Sherlock gave him a questioning look over his shoulder. Mycroft just smiled. Sherlock sighed and headed to the door. He opened it and saw a young man with two huge packages standing next to his feet. “Are you Mr. Holmes? Sherlock Holmes?”

“Yes. Is this for me?” It was a stupid question but Sherlock hadn’t ordered anything.

“Yes, sir. Have a nice day.”

“Don’t I have to sign for it?”

“No,” was the simple answer.

Sherlock took the first heavy carton and carried it inside, then the other one. “Do you have anything to do with this?” he asked Mycroft when he put them on the table that Mycroft had already cleared from the dishes.

“Could be. Why don’t you open them?” Mycroft said with a happy smile.

Sherlock did and stared at the contents he speechlessly took out one after the other. Two suits from his favourite designer, one black, one dark-grey, a coat, three pairs of very expensive shoes, several shirts and scarfs, underwear, some lab equipment, several scientific books and a brand-new laptop. “Oh Mycroft, you shouldn’t have done that.” He went to his brother and wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him. “You crazy, silly man.”

Mycroft chuckled and pressed him against his body. “I may be both, but you have lost everything in this explosion and you cannot start a new life with nothing. You might get money from the insurance but that will take some time. I hope you like all that, Anthea helped me to choose it online and got someone to buy it.”

“It’s all perfect. Thank you!” Sherlock took Mycroft’s face in both hands and kissed him. “Can I keep your jeans though? It feels so nice to wear something from you.”

“Sure. They look much better on you anyway.”

“Oh, I don’t know, I’ll have to see them on you to be sure. And you half out of them. You shouldn’t spend so much money on me,” he added in an earnest tone. “I did earn pretty much with some of the latest cases and could have gotten most of it myself. I want to be a gift to you, not a burden as I’ve been all my life.”

“You’ve never been a burden. And it was a pleasure for me to get you the stuff. Of course you will need much more to fill your flat and I will be happy to order whatever you need.”

“Now I have to make up for two favours, one bigger than the other.” Sherlock grimaced. “Although I don’t know how if the doctor forbids you to do anything strenuous.”

“Oh, that. I'll tell you something you don’t know about me: I’ve always had high blood-pressure and I’ve taken pills for it for years.”

“But why was it so high then?”

“Because I didn’t take the pill this morning. I thought maybe he would check it and think I’m an invalid that has to be taken care of. Just in case my pretty face wasn’t reason enough.”

“You are so _smart_!”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “You’ve doubted that?”

“Of course not. So there is nothing that will keep us from shagging all night? Besides your injuries but I promise I won’t hurt you.”

Mycroft laughed out loud. Then he hugged Sherlock again. “I think we should take it one step at a time. Except...”

“Yes?”

“Except you are more experienced than I think.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks blush once more. “No, I’m not. Not at all. But after you left this morning, I did look at some porn on your computer.”

Mycroft laughed again. “Thank God it’s my private one. What did you find?”

“Many interesting suggestions.” Indeed. He had been overwhelmed by the mass of porn sites. He had chosen one with the name _Out of suit_ and had paid for watching several helpful scenes with very buff, very well-equipped men wearing rather cheap-looking suits for about ten seconds before going at it. Of course he had known something about gay sex before as he had always known that he was indeed gay even though he had never _done it_ with anyone.  He had exchanged one hand-job with a classmate. They had not even kissed or touched each other any further but it had proven to Sherlock that he liked men. Not so long after he had found out which man exactly he liked, and after that there had been no point in searching out contact with anybody else. “I think I got a good picture. You will have to have patience with me though as actually doing it is probably something different. And I’m happy with anything you want to share with me,” he said softly as he snuggled into Mycroft’s arms and rubbed his face at his throat.

“I’ll have an endless sea of patience with you and I want to share everything with you, everything you feel comfortable with. Not that you think that I have so much experience. It’s been a pretty long time for me since I’ve been with anyone so it’s a fresh start for both of us.”

“How many men did you have sex with? And was it only with men?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Of course it was only with men. How many, well, not more than seven or eight, and not that often with any of them. It’s not that I’ve been in any relationship. I’ve never wanted to. Because for the last twenty years, there’s been only one on my mind. And I didn't actually have any time for it. So I may not be a virgin, but there is so much I have never done and want to do with you. No need to rush anything though. We’ll just see what we’re both comfortable with.”

Sherlock looked at him and saw love and a rather suppressed hunger in his brother’s pale blue eyes. “Let’s go to your bedroom.”

“Our bedroom you mean.”

Sherlock smiled at him and took his hand. He was burning from desire and could feel his cock swell in his jeans just by thinking of what could happen now. Mycroft might want to go at it slowly, but he was so excited.

“By the way, Sherlock, that song, what was it?”

“What... Oh, you mean the song John hummed when he saw you?”

“Yes. Do you know it?”

Sherlock giggled and took his phone out. He looked up _Youtube_ and searched for a video. He opened it, went to the middle of the song and when the music started playing, he showed the screen to his brother.

“ _All you Zombies_... Very nice!”

Sherlock tousled his hair. “Come upstairs with me, my undead lover.”

“I’ll show you how undead I am!”

“Oh, I can’t _wait_!”

*****

When they entered the bedroom, Sherlock suddenly became very nervous. He felt silly to be so inexperienced at his age and he feared that he would mess it up. What if he wasn't able to give his brother what he needed? What if his own body would betray him, despite his current arousal?

Mycroft closed the curtains. “Would you like to have some music?”

“No, I wouldn’t think so. I mean, if you prefer to have some I don’t mind.”

Mycroft looked at him curiously, then he smiled. “No need to be stressed, Sherlock, I know this must feel awkward to you but this isn’t an exam or a contest, it’s just you and me willing to explore our sexuality together. And if you are not ready, I will never...”

“I’m so definitely ready,” Sherlock interrupted him and wrapped his arms around his neck. “I just want to make you feel good.”

“Your sheer presence makes me feel _great_. I’m so happy you’re here with me, like that, finally...”

Sherlock was totally surprised that his brother’s eyes were shimmering. “I love you, Mycie.”

“I love you, too, darling.” It was the first time he used a pet name and Sherlock’s heart just _melted_.

Their lips met for another wonderful, intense, tongue-tangling kiss. But it was different this time. There was an electric tension between them, their hands were hungrily sliding over the other one’s still clothed back and bottom, both of them were breathing fast. Sherlock could feel Mycroft’s erection pressing against his thigh, and his own seemed to be eager to burst up his jeans. He had the strong feeling that they would go full force very soon no matter what Mycroft had said, and he would certainly not mind at all. They had waited long enough. “Too many clothes,” he finally brought out.

“Definitely.” Both of them started to undress, their intense eye-contact broke when both of them started staring at the skin that was revealed one delicious bit after the other. Mycroft threw his waistcoat on a chair, then his shirt. At the moment he opened the trousers his phone chirped with a message. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

“No problem, go answer it,” Sherlock said while stepping out of his jeans.

But Mycroft just took the phone and switched it off without looking who’d tried to contact him. Sherlock sent him a surprised glance, then he smiled. “Good idea. Better let me do the same.”

When they were both naked, Sherlock made a slow step to his brother. He looked him in the eyes, then put both hands on his shoulders, letting them slide over his very hairy chest, carefully stroked his nipples with his thumbs. His gaze flickered back and forth from the skin he was caressing to Mycroft’s eyes that were constantly watching him. He felt his heart beating very fast and he was almost painfully hard without having been touched at all so far.

“Shall we lie down and make ourselves a little more comfortable?” Mycroft quietly suggested, and he just nodded. There was no chance he’d be able to speak now. Mycroft stepped backwards to the bed, sat down and swung his long legs up. Sherlock followed him and lay down next to him.

“Go on, please. I love the way you touch me,” Mycroft requested softly. Resting on his elbow, Sherlock let his left hand continue exploring his brother’s warm body, stroked his arm and side with his palm, then he returned to the hard nipples, probing the chest hair with careful tugs. His long fingers slid through the hair down to the navel, and then followed the trail of dark hair down to his pubes. And there is was, the symbol of masculinity, his long, thick, rock-hard cock, the purple head glistening from pre-cum, standing up from the big, round, taut ball sack, pink skin covered in more dark hair.

“Oh God,” Mycroft whispered when Sherlock finally clenched his fingers around his erection, having them slide up and down the silky skin, imitating what he had earlier seen on video, and of course, what he had done to himself, thinking of his brother. He touched the wet slit and let his thumb circle around the knob. He was inexperienced but so eager to please, breathless from excitement, trembling from joy. His head was spinning as if he was high.

“Grab it harder, please,” Mycroft said while getting up to rest on his elbows, his face reddened, his eyes staring at Sherlock’s hand. “As hard as you can. And move your hand really fast. You already have me so close. I will come very soon and I need it.”

Sherlock obeyed and it took just thirty seconds of hard massaging before Mycroft shouted: “Yes, Sherlock!” and then his seed literally shot in the air like a fountain, two, three, four eruptions that hit the wall behind the bed, leaving traces on Mycroft’s face and chest.

“Wow,” was all Sherlock could say. He had never expected such an explosion. And he had caused it. “Did you like it?” he teased his brother, feeling proud.

Mycroft, who had just collapsed on the bed, smiled with closed eyes. “No.”

“Liar.” Sherlock lay close to him again and kissed his eyebrow. He let his fingers wipe away the drops of cum that had landed on Mycroft’s face. Without thinking he licked on the wetness on his fingertips. It tasted bitter and sweet at the same time and he loved it.

Mycroft had opened his eyes and was watching him. “I guess you are not nervous anymore,” he said with a grin. “It was wonderful. Exceptional. I knew you would be a natural talent. Thank you. If I was able to move now, I would kiss you.”

Sherlock took this as a request and kissed him instead. It was a long, tender kiss and Sherlock let it last until Mycroft seemed to have regained his full consciousness. “Now what about me? Will you lend me a hand?”

“No.” Mycroft let himself slide down on the bed until his feet hit the ground. “Kneel over me, right here. Good. You can bend over and rest on your hands. And now give me your cock.”

“You mean...”

“Yes, put it in my mouth.”

“But what about your nose, can you breathe?”

“Of course. Come on, give it to me!”

Sherlock held his breath when the tip of his cock slowly pressed against Mycroft’s closed mouth. His brother’s lips parted and his red tongue reached out and licked playfully over his sensitive knob. The sight made him almost pass out and he moaned in pleasure. Mycroft smiled and opened his mouth while shooting him an encouraging look and he dipped the head in, very carefully, and Mycroft started to suck at it. _Divine_ was the only word that described the feeling adequately. Sherlock pulled back a little because he feared he would come right away, and when he moved forward again, trembling and excited, he hit Mycroft's nose.

“Oh God, I'm sorry!”

Mycroft had grimaced but his smile returned in an instant. “No problem, Sherlock, but now give it to me, I want to have it in my mouth. Now.”

Sherlock hesitated and Mycroft reached up with both hands, grabbed his buttocks and urged him to shove it in his mouth to the root.

“Ohhh...” Sherlock moaned loudly. He felt Mycroft’s lips close around his erection, his hot tongue licking over and into the slit, drawing circles around the head under his foreskin, and he felt him suck hard, very hard, felt him fingering his hole, rubbing his perineum. Sherlock started moving his hips instinctively, fast, thrusting his cock in and out this hot, wet, hungry mouth. He wanted it to last forever but within a minute he felt the climax crashing through his body with a force that shut down all thoughts, and then his back bent and he screamed when his sperm shot in Mycroft’s mouth, making him gulp fast.

Now it was Sherlock’s term to collapse on the bed, still trembling from his forceful orgasm, feeling dizzy and weak and so great. “Wow, that was... Can you tell me again how little experience you have?” he asked.

“Well, obviously when the ingredients are perfect, the chemical reaction overpowers the inexperience.”

“What?”

Mycroft chuckled. “Sorry, my brain is bit like pudding right now. I meant it was all by instinct, having the right partner just made it happen perfectly.”

“Yes, indeed. That’s what we are, perfect partners. The perfect couple.” The perfect couple that had to hide their love. He felt his heart sink a bit, despite his satisfaction and happiness.

“Don’t be sad, Sherlock. It is what it is.” Of course Mycroft knew what he was thinking.

“Not that again, please,” he said with a little forced grin. “I prefer _it is what we make of it_.”

“I totally agree.” Mycroft leaned over and they kissed tenderly. “Would you mind if I took a short nap? Somehow I feel a little smashed.”

“Not at all. You’re not the only one.” Sherlock managed to draw the blanket over them and embraced his brother tightly. “You have painted a nice picture on the wall...”

“The wall? Oh, it shot that far?”

“Oh yes. I bet it was a world record.” Both of them laughed, then welcomed the sleep.

*****

Hours later Mycroft woke up in the now dark room, still feeling a little groggy but too awake to go back to sleep. For some minutes he watched Sherlock who was still sleeping peacefully. Resisting the urge to let his hand slide through the black curls that covered half of his face, he went to the bathroom. After quietly closing the door, he made light and was confronted with his damaged self in the mirror over the basin. It was not a pleasant sight. The bump had become slightly smaller but still shimmered in violet and dark red and the nose could have scared little children away. There were almost black shadows under his eyes and he was as pale as a ghost. Why Sherlock even wanted to kiss him, let alone make love to him while he was in such a pathetic state was beyond him. Not that he tended to be overly attractive to begin with considering his thin to non-existent hair, the increasingly flabby chin and the awful lot of hair on his body. In his opinion the only attributes going for him were his height, his blue eyes, and the considerable size of his cock. Mycroft was more than aware of his insufficiencies. But since Sherlock was obviously willing to throw himself all over him, he wouldn’t question it. His only fear was that once Sherlock had become acquainted with his sexuality, he would realise that there were more desirable men out there to get his hands on and leave him, which would shatter him into pieces. But there was nothing he could do about that so he pushed those unpleasant thoughts away.

Unwilling to stay sticky and sweaty from their lovemaking until the morning, he decided to have a short shower, hoping he wouldn’t wake his brother. He had just washed his hair under almost boiling hot water when he saw a tall silhouette appearing outside the cabin. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have showered, I didn’t want to wake you up,” he apologised when Sherlock joined him.

“No worries, Mycie, I slept almost seven hours which is yet another record in this memorable night.” Sherlock smiled at him and took the body wash. “Would you mind if I took care of you?”

“Not at all, brother dear.” Mycroft just closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of Sherlock’s long fingers rubbing the shower gel into his skin from his neck to his toes, paying no more attention to his intimate areas than to all other body parts, which didn’t mean that Mycroft didn’t get hard from the moment Sherlock started touching him. After a while he returned the favour by washing those thick curls and Sherlock’s back, pressing small kisses on the broad shoulders, tenderly licking over the paling, long scars he had brought from Serbia. While going to his knees he started licking his way down the delicate spine to Sherlock’s exceptionally beautiful, round buttocks, letting his tongue slide between them to finally bury it into his virgin pink hole. He heard Sherlock’s loud moans over the noise of the water, felt his body shaking with desire and from masturbating his cock, matching the rhythm of Mycroft’s penetrating tongue.

“God, Mycie, I’m coming,” he finally heard him say in a trembling voice.

“Turn around, give it to me,” Mycroft requested and Sherlock obeyed and seconds later he ejaculated into Mycroft’s open mouth and over his face.

Sherlock leaned against the back of the cabin, hot water running over him, and clenched to Mycroft’s shoulder. Mycroft slowly got up in a standing position, and they started kissing passionately while Sherlock’s fingers were massaging his brother’s arse cheeks, pressing their bodies together as close as possible. Then Sherlock broke the kiss, put the shower off and turned his attention to Mycroft’s erect nipples, licking and sucking on them while letting his wonderful long fingers run through the hair of his chest and belly.

Mycroft was suddenly ashamed of his hairy self. He’d never really thought about it but now that he compared himself to Sherlock’s almost hairless chest and stomach he realised that he resembled an ape. Not only his chest and belly were hairy, he could have lived with that. But his shoulders and his arse were like a black jungle as well… “Do you want me to shave it?”

“What do you mean?”

“My fur... I know I look like a gorilla and it’s not pretty.”

“What are you talking about! I love it, I love how it feels on my hands, on my tongue.” Mycroft felt him proving his point when he licked all over his chest, taking some hair between his lips and sucked at it until it hurt a little which was a surprisingly erotic sensation.

“Love it,” Sherlock mumbled and started kissing his way down to Mycroft’s navel which he explored with the tip of his tongue, then Mycroft felt and watched his full lips closing around his throbbing erection. He moaned and Sherlock caught his gaze and winked, then carefully took his cock deeper and sucked at it, first slowly and softly, then faster and more powerful. His cheekbones were standing out much more than usual and it looked unbelievably hot.

The sight and the feeling were thrilling but at all once an unwelcome picture flickered through his brain, a younger, much younger Sherlock eating ice cream and looking up to his big brother innocently. What was he doing here, how could he have his baby brother on his knees with his cock in his mouth, how could he have made Sherlock feel he had to please him in this way? Mycroft felt overwhelmed by a sudden guilt while arousal still occupied his body, making him want to thrust deep into Sherlock’s inexperienced, but willing mouth. “You don’t have to do that,” he said flatly, even though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

Sherlock let his cock drop out of his mouth and stared at him disbelievingly. “ _Don’t have to do that_? What is that supposed to mean now? Do you seriously think I'd do anything with you because I think I _have to_? What‘s happening here, are you having second thoughts?”

“I just meant...” Mycroft said with a broken voice but couldn’t continue because Sherlock got on his feet and shut him up with a deep kiss. He leaned into the kiss, confused and desperate and excited.

After kissing for some minutes, first softly and rather comforting, then more and more passionately, Sherlock grabbed his shoulders. “Mycroft, listen to me. I’m here with you because there is no place in this world where I’d rather be. We’re still brothers, but I’m a man and I know exactly what I want, which is you. Whatever I do to your hot body, I do it because I want to, because you are so sexy and amazing and it makes me crazy to feel you, smell you, and taste you. I want you, and only you!” he closed and drew Mycroft in a tight embrace.

Mycroft felt like an idiot to have spoilt the sexy moment with his insecurities and a guilt that only resulted from a stupid societal rule. And Sherlock was not that little boy anymore. He was indeed a man, and what a man. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I just wanted to make sure you don’t feel as if I put pressure on you to do something you don’t really want to do.” It was only a small part of the truth and of course he was aware that Sherlock could see through him.

“You haven’t done in the least, which you know very well, and believe me, I will let you know if something is not to my liking! Such as standing here and not being allowed to finally suck you off!”

“I apologise. Sherlock, would you please be so kind to give me a blowjob?” He felt relieved and silly and happy.

“That’s much better,” Sherlock mumbled and got to work.

*****

Fifteen minutes later they decided to return to bed, trying to catch a bit more sleep. Sherlock was feeling rather awake after his long nap and the shower and the most exciting thing he had ever done, namely worshipping Mycroft’s beautiful, big cock with his hands, lips and tongue until his brother had hissed his name in ecstasy and had come all over his chest. Sherlock had wanted to swallow his seed but Mycroft had just taken Sherlock’s new favourite toy away and emptied it before he had been able to grab it again. They had put on the shower once more and then had walked back to bed hand in hand. Sherlock guessed he wouldn’t be able to sleep anymore, but he had seen how exhausted his brother was still looking and had pretended to be tired from the sex.

“Sleep tight, brother mine,” he said softly and kissed Mycroft’s cheek, gently touched his hair and breathed another kiss on his eyebrow. Mycroft smiled up to him, closed his pretty eyes, and after a moment he indeed fell asleep again. Sherlock lay on his side next to his brother and watched him sleeping once more. Only one night before he had secretly caressed Mycroft, now he could do it openly (well, at least here in this house...) and knew it would be welcome. So much had changed in this short time and he felt so grateful that he’d had the courage to tell Mycroft how he was feeling about him. In his wildest dreams he had not expected what had happened since. But he was well aware that some big problems were already waiting for them.

First of all, Mycroft’s behaviour under the shower had disturbed him very much. He had to make him understand that, despite the fact he would always be his younger brother, he was now also his lover, his companion, an equal, not an innocent child that had to be protected, let alone from Mycroft’s more than welcome desires. Sherlock had only tonight accepted himself as a sexual human being, aside from the odd self-inflicted handjob in the past, but he already knew that his sex drive that had slept for so long was now there with great power, and he wanted to try out and explore anything possible, but he only wanted to do it with Mycroft. There had never been and would never be anyone else. For some reason Mycroft thought rather badly about his physical appearance, and Sherlock was the one who had to make him see that he had nothing to be ashamed of, that Sherlock not only accepted him exactly the way he was, but longed for him immensely. He was quite hopeful that he would succeed pretty quickly in this field.

The other problems were much more difficult to solve because they involved the people around them and their work. Sherlock thought about his relationships with John, Lestrade, and Molly, the people he had to deal with a lot, and came to the sad conclusion that none of them could be trusted to react in a positive way should they learn about the forbidden love. John, who had disliked Mycroft from the very beginning, would freak out and possibly take to physical violence against one or both of them. Of course he wouldn’t survive either of it as Sherlock could imagine very well how fiercely Mycroft would react to that. John probably thought that Mycroft was a lazy pencil pusher he could have his way with, but the soldier would find out what sort of physical damage Mycroft was capable of inflicting on him should he try to touch him or Sherlock. Sherlock remembered very well seeing Mycroft practicing American Kenpo and Sambo in his teenage days, after finally getting rid of his puppy fat, and Sherlock was pretty sure he was still very much able to use some of it. Even if John didn’t do anything drastic, he would never accept it and his silence wouldn’t be guaranteed at all.

Lestrade liked both of them but he was a man of the law and a very decent one, and he knew neither of them well enough to understand that they were meant for each other, and only for each other. So he might inform the authorities about the incestuous affair like he would certainly see it. And Molly, well, he didn’t know how she felt about him now after the humiliation he had to put her through, but she had loved him for a long time now and probably still had hope to get together with him one day. Even though he had never encouraged such illusions because it was just bizarre to even imagine himself with her, or with any other woman for that matter.

Speaking of women, he had blocked Irene Adler’s number so she wouldn’t be able to send him any more insignificant texts with this annoying text alert noise, he didn’t even want to imagine which impact it would have on Mycroft if such a text arrived in an intimate situation, or at all in his presence. He didn’t know why he had allowed her to bother him for so long; he had never replied but when they had met so many years ago, she had fascinated him in a platonic, intellectual way, and somehow he had seen her as an equal to some extent. He had no use for that anymore as now he indeed had found his equal, and he would do anything, anything in the world to protect Mycroft and their love for each other.

On Mycroft’s side it was not any easier. Anthea seemed to be a very reliable assistant and probably would not do anything if she learned about their secret, which could happen very well if she someday had to use Mycroft’s phone and found their texts or overheard a conversation between them. But they couldn’t be sure about her. Who knew if Anthea would really be so loyal if she got hold of such valuable blackmail material? Lady Smallwood was an even bigger danger as she was in love with his brother or at least keen on getting to know him a lot more intimately. If she found out about them, Mycroft’s career would be finished and they would both end up in prison... And God knew who else was just waiting for Mycroft to make a mistake to bring him down. Sherlock was pretty sure Mycroft had made himself enough enemies in this jungle of organisations that built the British Government. Powerful people, minor position or not, always had plenty of enemies.

Nevertheless Mycroft would have to go to work the next Monday and Sherlock was sure they would communicate over their phones pretty often even though he was aware that this was dangerous. And Sherlock had to go on solving crimes together with John as he couldn’t sit around waiting for Mycroft to return from work all day, and he knew that he had to behave as if nothing had changed and in the end he wanted to earn some money of his own. Still determined to postpone moving back into 221B as long as possible, he would have to find another place for seeing clients and do experiments and be personally reachable during the day. He would speak with Mrs Hudson, his secret confidante and the only person besides Mycroft he really trusted, about the possibility of using one of her rooms as John’s flat was too far outside, and of course he wouldn’t want any client in Mycroft’s house, even if his brother accepted that. Here was their home, the only place they would be able to be private in and enjoy their relationship and have as much sex as possible.

Then there were their parents who had to be fooled, not that either of the brothers saw them very often, but most of the time they visited them together so they’d have to pretend nothing had changed between them. While their father should not be a problem, Sherlock knew that his mother was very sensitive in figuring out moods and unusual behaviour so they had to play their parts very convincingly. Sherlock grinned when he thought how they would be fighting at the dinner table as they had always done, secretly only thinking about how to get into each other’s pants as soon as possible. And he still wanted to visit Eurus - in the end she was still family, and she seemed to be drawn to him in a twisted way. Perhaps he could change her for the better. But Mycroft clearly hated her now for the pain she had inflicted on him and Sherlock, and he would not be happy about Sherlock wanting to see her and it would probably cause some fighting. So he would not bring the subject up soon as he had decided the day before already as the last thing he wanted was beginning their new relationship with trouble and hurt. But eventually he would have to convince Mycroft that connecting with Eurus was not meant as a betrayal to him.

So there were plenty of problems they would have to face but well, he was Sherlock Holmes, the puzzle-solving detective. He knew this was the case of his life, the only one that really mattered. Making Mycroft happy, grounding their special love on a stable, everlasting relationship full of emotion, joy and sexual fulfilment, and all of that in total discretion. He would do anything he could to make it work and he knew that Mycroft would, too. They were brothers as before but for the rest of their lives he wanted them to also be best friends and devoted lovers. Finally he snuggled against Mycroft’s shoulder as he had done the night before. He carefully kissed a delicate ear and breathed in Mycroft’s scent. Suddenly he felt a little sleepy and knew he’d find some more rest. And tomorrow their life together would truly begin and he simply couldn’t wait.

 


	3. Chapter 3

The morning sun was shining through the curtains when Sherlock woke up. He felt refreshed and relaxed and more than ready to begin the day, preferably in a very nice way. Mycroft was still sleeping calmly, lying on his stomach, his legs spread pretty widely, his arms on both sides of his head. The blanket had left his body sometime during the night and there he was, his naked body fully exposed to Sherlock’s hungrily watching eyes. He took in the sight with pleasure, then he got closer to the delicious body offered to him so nicely, and touched his brother’s back with feather light strokes, then he kissed his way down to the golden, perfectly-shaped buttocks. Mycroft made a little sound that told him he was not sleeping anymore.

“Good morning, gorgeous,” he greeted him and bent over to press a kiss on his neck.

“Morning... Found something you like?” Mycroft mumbled, his head still buried in the pillow.

“Oh, yes, indeed. But if you want to get back to sleep I can stop?”

“Don’t you dare!”

Sherlock grinned and started exploring his bottom properly; he kissed and softly bit and licked it until Mycroft started moving under his caresses.

“Getting a little uncomfortable to be on your stomach?” he teased him, and Mycroft slightly shifted his body.

“Indeed. But it’s nothing I can’t manage. Go on, please.”

Sherlock obeyed and carefully spread the muscular cheeks apart, revealing that most intimate spot on Mycroft’s body, probing at it with the tip of his tongue, and buried his face in the crack, enjoyed the heat and the musky taste and the moans that were constantly coming from his brother's pretty lips. His own cock was throbbing already and he got up, kneeled on either sides of Mycroft’s legs and rubbed his erection between the buttocks. It was a heavenly feeling. Teasingly he lay down on his brother, very carefully, covering his body with his own, and started kissing his neck, still rubbing his dick on his arse. He felt his arousal getting stronger with every moment, and he shivered when Mycroft asked:

“Do you want to fuck me, Sherlock?”

“Well, yes but... I thought it would be the other way around?”

“Don’t worry, it will be, but right now, it’s your turn to top.”

Sherlock stiffened and lay down next to his brother. “Because you think I can’t handle getting penetrated? I wish you’d understand you don’t have to protect me, especially not from you.”

Mycroft turned around to him. “No, but it has to be you taking me now. First, I’m too lazy to get up. And second, I just need to have your prick up my arse.”

“Mycroft! I had no idea you like dirty talking!” Sherlock said with a big grin.

“There’s a lot you don’t know about me.”

“I guess so. But I’m very willing to find out all your secrets.”

“Then I will be very boring to you.”

“You will never be boring to me, Mycroft!”

He bent over and kissed his brother on the lips for the first time that day. He pulled him as close as possible, their legs intertwined, and he stroked that fabulous arse with both hands while their hard cocks rubbed at each other. They kissed passionately, both with open eyes, watching the other one’s reaction. Finally Mycroft broke the kiss. “Look in the top drawer, please. There’s some equipment you might find handy.”

Sherlock reached over, opened the drawer and found a black anal plug and a bottle of lube. There were two big dildos as well but he guessed that they were not meant for preparation purposes but were substitutes for the real thing, and he would give this to his brother soon.

Mycroft smiled at him and turned around to lie on his stomach again. “Just put some lube in my hole and on the plug and slowly put it in me.”

Sherlock did as he was told and prepped his brother up very carefully. It was fascinating for him to watch the slippery sex toy disappearing in the more and more loose opening further with every thrust.

“I think I’m ready now. Now give me your cock, Sherlock.” He backed up on his hands and knees. “It should be smoother this way.”

Sherlock grabbed Mycroft’s hips and pressed his penis down between the firm cheeks of his arse, the swollen head knocking against this forbidden door. The thought of soon breaking it in and feeling his brother’s tight muscle close around him made him crazy. He knew he wouldn’t last long and was afraid he would shoot right away all over Mycroft’s butt.

“Tell me something to cool me down,” he demanded.

“What? Oh, I see. Like how Lady Smallwood looked in her skirt yesterday? Someone should have told her that with her old, wrinkled legs the length was not really the best choice.”

Sherlock laughed. “Yeah, just like that.” The amusement and the ugly picture had taken the edge off his excitement and he moved forward and had his dripping knob pressed into Mycroft’s hole. His brother moaned loudly and his body tensed.

“Am I hurting you?” he immediately asked and stopped moving.

“No, go on. I will get used to it very soon. It feels great. Just go on moving slowly and I will tell you when you can speed up.”

Sherlock closed his eyes and concentrated only on his feelings. Very slowly he pressed his cock further in and the incredibly tight passage welcomed him with heat and joy and an arousal beyond any expectation. He drew back a little and thrust into it again, this time a little harder, and he felt that he was already getting very close. He knew that even a nude picture of Lady Smallwood pinned on Mycroft’s back wouldn’t help him to cool down now; their first anal sex together would be embarrassingly short. But he remembered that they had the whole day and the complete weekend ahead and he would learn fast to control himself better.

“Deeper, Sherlock,” Mycroft demanded, and he increased the pressure, finally sliding in completely with a very loud moan. “Let it come, Sherlock, I know you’re close.”

He didn’t need more encouragement; he thrust hard, once, twice, and then he shot his seed into Mycroft’s body. He held onto him, panting, his head spinning, and then he let himself collapse on the bed. It took him a couple of seconds to get his senses back while Mycroft was pulling him in his arms. “I’m sorry, that was a poor performance. You can’t have gotten anything out of this encounter.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Don’t you say that. It felt incredible to have you in me.”

Sherlock looked at his half-hard dick and gently rubbed it. “Do you want to return the favour?”

Mycroft smiled. “Later today, for sure. But why don’t you just lend me your mouth again right now? If that’s agreeable to you of course.”

The detective couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “Of course it is! I love to do that!”

“Alright, then go ahead. My cock is all yours!” He got up in a sitting position against the headrest of the bed.

Sherlock placed himself between his long, slim legs and took said cock in his mouth completely, started teasing it with his tongue, and then sucked at it powerfully.

“Oh, Sherlock, you are such a fast learner. You make me so crazy! God, I wish you could see your face now, your cheekbones look so amazing!”

Unable to reply, Sherlock just winked and smiled around the quickly stiffening member. He felt and tasted the salty wetness that was dripping out of it and sucked even harder. Eventually he grabbed the long boner at the base and let his hand add to the treatment.

“I’m close, Sherlock, get off,” Mycroft growled, but Sherlock didn’t let go this time. Instead he gazed in Mycroft’s widening eyes when the waves of orgasm crashed over him. He choked when the shots of seed hit his palate, but then he quickly swallowed it all down, even though he felt his eyes water by the feeling. But the knowledge that he could cause the man he loved to come so strong was awesome, and he felt proud and happy and just loved Mycroft’s taste and smell and skin and every second of being with him.

Breathing hard, Mycroft pulled him close when he’d recovered from the climax. “This was amazing. You are amazing.”

Sherlock nuzzled his face against Mycroft’s throat and felt his racing pulse against his lips. He just couldn’t get close enough and rather would have crawled into his skin. “I love you, Mycroft. And I always will.”

“Same here, Sherlock, you’ll never know how much.”

Their lips met for a kiss, and Mycroft pulled the blanket over them again and then they just continued kissing, tenderly, lovingly, promising, pressed against each other, forgetting the world around them.

*****

Almost an hour later they decided to finally get out of bed. They showered, one after the other this time as Mycroft had been afraid showering together would only lead them back to the bedroom. “I’d love to, Sherlock, but unfortunately I’m not twenty or thirty anymore so I’ll need some hours to recover before we can make love again, and I really don’t want to drop dead now that my life has taken this wonderful turn.”

Sherlock had shivered inside at this statement. How easy that sounded, how normal it had become that they were a couple that wanted to have sex and could just do so. Two days ago they had been Mycroft _I-know-everything-better-than-you-and-you-drive-me-crazy-with-your-escapades_ Holmes and Sherlock _I-surpassed-you-long-ago-and-you-drive-me-crazy-with-your-overprotection_ Holmes and now they were Mycroft and Sherlock so in love that they couldn’t keep their hands from each other. Even waiting for Mycroft to finish his shower turned out to be too long a time without him, and Sherlock had no idea how he should survive not seeing him for hours, or maybe even days when the world of work and responsibilities would call them back in. He had thought the night before he would manage but all at once it seemed too big a burden.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, still in their bathrobes, having breakfast together, when Mycroft looked up from the newspaper he was reading, having caught him staring at him. “Is everything alright? How are your eggs?” Sherlock grinned at him, and he shook his head, unable not to smile. “Sherlock! I was not talking about these eggs!”

“I know. They are fine. At least the ones on my plate.”

“But you’re not eating. And what about the other ones then?”

Sherlock pierced some of his scrambled eggs with his fork and ate. “They’re fine, too. But of course they’re crying for your attention.”

“Again? But yes, I thought I heard something scream my name. What do you think, would they like to be taken in my mouth and sucked at?” he asked in an innocent voice.

“Oh, Mycroft! You can’t do that to me!”

“Oh, you think that they wouldn’t like that?”

“You know exactly what I meant!”

“Yes, I do. But listen, we both know that you’ll have to keep your desires under control. I know it’s hard because you just found out how good sex is, but real life won’t allow us to just have sex all the time. Or to be together all the time,” he spoke out Sherlock’s thoughts.

“I know.” Sherlock felt sort of depressed all at once. “I don’t know how I shall manage. It’s not the sex, well, it _is_ the sex, too, but much more it’s because I just love you so much and I want you to be around me all the time.” _And because we have wasted so much time being rather unfriendly brothers instead of the lovers we should have been for almost two decades and I’m afraid that when we go back to our normal lives, we’ll lose what we’ve just found, you will get sucked up by your work and will not find me interesting anymore and for me it will be all longing again and no love anymore._ He didn’t say anything of it loudly because he knew it was pointless and would just make him sound like a whining child.

Mycroft smiled at him and took his hand. “I know, Sherlock, I feel the same way. But you have your cases and you love them, too, and I have my work, and even though I wouldn’t exactly say that I love it, it has identified my sheer self for so long, and I can proudly say this country needs me and I want to give my best for it just as I’ve done for so many years.”

“The Queen had you long enough then”, Sherlock mumbled, and Mycroft laughed and kissed his hand.

“God, I love you, Sherlock. I promise you, we will make it work. We are both geniuses and who if not us can plan to see each other as often as possible, and having to wait for each other will just increase our desires and make our coming together even more exciting.”

“If you say so. I just wish... I could stay here at least. I wouldn’t see you during the day but we would spend every night together at least.”

“I know, Sherlock. I wish that, too. Have you checked on the progress of Baker Street at all?”

“I was there yesterday. They are building it up quickly. But I told Mrs Hudson I want to have some amendments on the flat.”

“Good idea! Have you thought about the details?”

“Not yet. I somehow didn’t have time for it. I will think it over until Monday.”

“And how do you want to explain that to John? He is still going to move in again, isn’t he?”

“Yes, and I hate that. I should tell him I don’t want him to anymore.”

“No, Sherlock, you can’t do that. We can’t do anything that draws attention to us.”

Sherlock’s heart started to hurt. “I know. It’s just so damn... unfair! Why can’t they let us live the way we want? Who are we harming by loving each other?”

“Nobody. I totally agree with you. But it’s the sad truth that we’d get in big trouble if anyone found out.”

Sherlock thought of Mrs Hudson and bit his lip. He knew that he should tell Mycroft about it but he just couldn’t do that. He would have to speak to his landlady though to make sure she wouldn’t let Mycroft know that their love wasn’t a secret to her.

“Sherlock, don’t be sad. Come here.” Mycroft tapped on his legs and opened his arms to him.

Sherlock slid over to his side of the table and sat down on his lap. He put his arms around his brother’s neck and rested his chin on his head. He closed his eyes and enjoyed strong arms curling around his waist.

“It’s going to be fine, Sherlock, I promise you. I won’t let you slip away ever again. You can always reach me over the phone during the day, I will make very sure that nobody gets hold of my mobile so you can text me whatever you want and I will always reply as soon as I can. I will not be able to keep your texts but you know that I will remember them forever. And when none of us is out of town for work, we will meet up every single day if you want to. I definitely do. And you know what, I’m going to a conference in Edinburgh next month and I will find a way so you can accompany me.”

“You would really do that? Take me with you?”

“Of course!”

“But what if John wants to come with us?”

“He has a little child he has to take care of so I’m sure he will skip that. Otherwise I will be as vicious as possible to him so he will change his mind. Sherlock, I know there will be hard times as well, I think that’s inevitable. But please promise me that you’ll never forget that I love you more than any human being has ever loved another one in history. You are my life, my world, my everything. I know we wasted so much time but let’s make up for that for the rest of our lives.”

Sherlock felt as if he had something in his throat and his eyes were getting wet because of these touching words. His lips searched for his brother’s and they met for a kiss that transported all their feelings for each other.

“Iceman,” Sherlock finally managed to say. “I can’t believe they are calling you _Iceman_.”

“Oh, don’t get me wrong, Sherlock, I am. They are totally right about that. But somehow this Iceman has a heart of fire when it comes to you.” He let his hand slide in the opening of Sherlock’s robe and stroked his thigh. “But I’m worried now, are your eggs really crying for my attention?”

Sherlock swallowed hard. “Yes, don’t you hear them anymore?” He slightly shifted on Mycroft’s lap and spread his legs a little.

“Oh yes, now that you mention it.” Long fingers slid over Sherlock’s beginning erection and found his balls, touching them gently, weighing them, pressing them a little.

Sherlock moaned in his brother’s ear. But then he felt guilty. “You said you would need to have a break for a few hours before you can have sex with me again.”

“I did say that. And I do. But that doesn’t mean I can’t take care of you as you are obviously very capable of getting it up all day and night.”

“Jealous, brother mine?”

“Grateful, brother dear!”

They laughed and then Sherlock was urged to get up and sit on the hastily cleared table, and Mycroft started to properly take care of his balls, namely sucking them into his wonderful mouth, stretching them, licking them, in short giving them a royal treatment that Sherlock would never forget.

*****

“Is your housekeeper coming today?” Sherlock asked him when they were taking care of the dishes together.

“No, she’s only here on Wednesdays, the other time I take care of everything myself. I actually never see her because I’m always at work when she comes.”

“I’m just asking because we wouldn’t really want her to show up in a compromising situation,” Sherlock said with a grin.

“We should rather avoid that indeed. Listen Sherlock, would you mind if I had a look on my phone now to see who tried to reach me yesterday? I know I’m excused at work but I’d feel better if I checked upon it. And I have to order some food for the weekend.”

“Mycroft, of course you can do that. I’m so happy that I have you for myself the next couple of days but that doesn’t mean you have to entertain me all the time. Even though your kind of entertainment is greatly appreciated. Would you mind us going out a bit later? It’s getting pretty warm today and I guess we both could do with some sunshine.”

“Absolutely. I won’t be long. You can entertain yourself while I’m busy?”

Sherlock grinned at him. “I don’t think I’ll have to. I’m sure I can wait an hour before I need to be sucked off again.”

Mycroft laughed and shook his head. “My God, who could have known you would develop into a sex monster within two days?”

“I certainly didn’t see that coming. Now go so you’ll be back as soon as possible. I’ll check my emails, John has already complained that I’m ignoring a cry for help. They will have to wait until next week of course.”

“Good, so you are occupied. I won’t take long, I promise.” He turned to leave the kitchen when Sherlock called his name.

“You’re not going anywhere without kissing me first, Mycroft!”

Mycroft just felt embarrassingly happy. “Of course, where do I have my thoughts.” He and Sherlock met halfway and shared another one of these stunning kisses for several minutes. All he wanted was to take Sherlock’s hand and lead him back to bed and just kiss and lick every inch of his wonderful body. He remembered what he had told Sherlock about keeping his desires under control and realised that it wouldn’t be any easier for himself.

“Okay, now you may go. But if you take too long, I will come looking for you and punish you!” Sherlock threatened him.

“Oh really? And what sort of punishment do you have in mind?”

“Not sure yet, but it might include Lady Smallwood and strawberry jam.”

“Oh my God, I will hurry up!” With a laugh he left the room and headed upstairs.

Half an hour later he had finished speaking to the Prime Minister about some problems the other man regarded as very important. There had been some threatening phone calls for the Princess of York by a group of bored teenagers, and an Arabian prince had asked for a secret expertise in agriculture, among other _urgent_ matters. Mycroft had caught himself rolling his eyes several times until he could finally get rid of this man who had obviously taken Mycroft’s absence as a personal insult. Mycroft decided at once that he was going to take a longer holiday someday soon, something he had not done for at least ten years. But this year he would, and of course he would take Sherlock with him. He was very confident that they would find a way without causing suspicion.

After the unpleasant conversation he ordered a lot of food for them that would be delivered in the afternoon. Sherlock had become more buffed up but in Mycroft’s eyes he was still too thin and needed to be fed with more than just his cock. And of course having more passionate sex would make them hungry. He had ordered everything he thought Sherlock might like and two bottles of expensive champagne. They definitely needed to celebrate their new love in style.

He closed his laptop and went downstairs where Sherlock was sitting on the couch in the living room, looking at his phone. He put it away as soon as he saw Mycroft.

“Good, I was about to come to you and set the punishment in motion.”

“Lucky me. So is there an interesting case in the line?”

“No, not really. The usual _my wife has run away_ and _my boss is an alien_ stuff. And this guy John told me about. He lost his job and has not been fully paid and now it seems the company that employed him doesn’t exist at all. Not very exciting either but I will call the man on Monday.”

“You can call him now if you like?”

“No! Or do you want me to leave you alone?” He sounded frightened all at once and Mycroft hurried to take him in his arms.

“Of course not, love. I just thought... Probably I didn’t think at all. The PM has bored me so much that I fear I’ve lost a hurtful amount of brain cells.”

Sherlock grinned and touched his cheek gently. “So nothing spectacular on your side, either?”

“Not in the least. I turned my phone off again and it will stay like that until Monday.” He realised he had never done that before, had never been unreachable over a weekend. But then he had never had such a good reason.

“So did I. Do you want to go outside now?”

“Yes, very much. We just have to be back before four o’clock because the food will be delivered then.”

“You know we could have gone to the supermarket and collect it ourselves?”

“We could have. But I’m used to doing it this way. Although I must admit it would be nice to do grocery shopping with you like all the other couples obviously do.”

Sherlock looked at him with a glow in his eyes. “That’s what we are, right? A couple.” He sounded as if he still couldn’t believe that.

Mycroft cupped his face with his hands and kissed him. “Yes, Sherlock, that’s what we are.”

*****

They both dressed up in jeans and white shirts. Sherlock had not seen his brother in such casual clothes for ages and he loved the sight. Fifteen minutes later they arrived in a little park. It was warm and the sun was shining and there were bees and butterflies flying, and cute little dogs running around, children playing ball, beautiful young women and men holding hands, and elderly people sitting on benches and chatting. It was lovely and Sherlock had to refrain from taking Mycroft’s hand while they were strolling through the park. Both of them were silent and all at once Sherlock realised that they had never had a real conversation with each other. Two days before they had still been like two alpha dogs fighting for control and now they were devoted lovers who were still exploring each other’s bodies. His brother and partner was more or less a stranger to him and he didn’t like that at all.

“What if we told each other a secret about ourselves?” he suggested, and Mycroft gave him a surprised look. “Yes, I mean, we can ask each other something we have always wanted to know.”

Mycroft smiled and nodded. “Alright. A dark secret?”

“Not necessarily. Just something the other one doesn’t know. I want to know you, Mycroft. I want to understand who you are and how you became the man you are now.”

“I’m not so sure that this is so easy, Sherlock. I mean, knowing who you are and why yourself. But you’re right, we need to talk about these matters. It might just not be such a cheerful conversation at times.”

“I know. But I know your body pretty well now even though I will never get enough of it. But your soul is just as important to me.”

Mycroft stopped walking and closed the distance between them. Sherlock thought he wanted to kiss him and he obviously was indeed about to do it when he realised that he couldn’t.

“It sucks, right? That we can’t do what all the others can,” Sherlock said in a bitter tone.

“It does indeed.” Mycroft reached over and squeezed his hand quickly. “Just imagine how we are going to kiss as soon as we arrive home.”

 _Your home, not ours_... Sherlock pushed the thought away. It was senseless to torture himself with that all the time.

“Okay, shall I start?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock nodded. “Why did you take drugs for so long?”

“Oh.” Sherlock thought his suggestion might not have been the best idea. He should have seen this coming of course. “Well, starting with asking the edgy questions.” He fell silent as he went to an empty bench and sat down, leaning back while Mycroft took his place as well. For a moment he enjoyed the sunshine on his face. “I felt lost,” he finally said.

Mycroft looked at him and was obviously fighting the impulse to put his arm around his shoulders. “Lost? Why?”

Sherlock swallowed hard. “I was about sixteen when it started. A little bit of grass, alcohol of course, smoking until I couldn’t smell anything anymore.” He remembered the time even though the details had disappeared behind the walls of being high and out. “And why did I do it? Because my head was just summing all the time, getting new data, questioning just everything, I was unable to deal with it. You know that all too well I guess.” He saw Mycroft nod.

He took a deep breath, knowing that what he was going to tell his brother now would be really tough for him. “And then there were my feelings. I was all pain and longing and lusting and not knowing where to go with it. It needed to be shut up.” He didn’t add that it had never really worked. Even when he had taken cocaine he would still feel the pain of not having what he had wanted so much.

Mycroft stared at him as he asked very quietly: “Longing and lusting for whom?”

Sherlock just smiled and had to force back the tears that were coming to his eyes.

“Oh my God... Oh Sherlock, you should have told me!”

“How could I? I was more or less just a boy, I would have never guessed in my wildest dreams that you could be interested in me. You were the brilliant student, so independent and superior and totally out of my league. You hardly came home anymore, I saw you just for birthdays and Christmas. It did nothing to weaken my feelings for you though, I fantasised about you every night. But there was no way to tell you about that. And if you think our relationship would be condemned now, what do you think would have happened if we had gone that far while I was a minor?” Sherlock paused, hesitating to ask a question he was dying to know the answer to. But that's what this was about, wasn't it? Getting to know everything about each other? “Tell me, just how long have you felt like this about me?” Mycroft had said that he had loved him for so long, so probably it had been many years, just like for him.

Mycroft took his time to answer, apparently not trusting his voice. “It must have been exactly around that time. One day you were just my little brother, getting on my nerves with your never ending questions and your hunger to know everything I knew, and then one day I came home from university and saw an almost-man with a hot body and a beautiful face, and I realised that I wanted you. But I could never say anything because you were my little brother and it felt so wrong to feel like that about you.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. All this time he had longed for him, Mycroft had loved him, too? All this fucking, long time? What a waste… But at the same time it made him very happy. And he did understand very well why Mycroft had not acted on his feelings. “And now?”

“Now I know that I was a total idiot.”

“No, I mean...”

“I know what you mean. Now I know that it might be wrong in everybody else’s eyes but I don’t give a damn about it because I love you and I’ve never loved anybody else. We fit so well and are just meant for each other. I could hit my head against a wall thinking of what my cowardice caused you to go through.”

Sherlock shook his head. “Don’t do that. Look what happened last time.” He grinned, and Mycroft smiled wryly but was clearly not very amused. “You can’t blame yourself for that,” Sherlock continued. “You were so young yourself and it was an impossible situation. We couldn’t have done anything under our parents’ roof.”

“But later we could have. You didn’t stop taking drugs when you were living on your own.”

Indeed. He had been an addict. Addicted to getting his feelings numb and forgetting who he was by taking cocaine or whatever else was within reach. “It was not only because of my hopeless feelings for you. I was out of place wherever I was; always the strange one with the huge brain and the totally unsocial behaviour. I just couldn’t feel anything for other people but you and I needed the drugs to shut up my ever-spinning brain.”

“Did you... want to die?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and was silent for a long moment. “No,” he finally said. “I made sure to only get close to an overdose when you were not far away and could come and save me." Even though in his darkest nights he wouldn’t have minded if Mycroft had not arrived in time, but he felt he should keep that to himself no matter what he’d said about sharing secrets. This was too much.

“My God... Have I really been this blind all the time?” Mycroft seemed to be completely shaken. “When I just think how I had you locked away in a cell while you did all that because of me...” His voice broke.

Sherlock reached over and took his hand, not giving a damn about who might see them. “Mycroft, please, I didn’t want that to happen. I was just thinking that we should know each other really well and connect even more. I never meant to make you feel bad. There will never be another almost-overdose, I’m absolutely clean. I promise. There will be no need for a list ever again.”

Mycroft covered his hand with his own and caressed his fingers. “You’re absolutely right. It’s just that sometimes the truth is hard to bear. And I count on your promise. I never ever want to find you at the edge of death again.”

“You won’t. Now that my dreams have come true, there’s no need for that anymore. Can I ask you something now?”

“Of course. That was the deal.”

“We will continue that, won’t we? Exploring each other, in every possible way, until there’s nothing that we don’t know about the other one?”

“Yes, we will. I love you, Sherlock, and even though I’m shocked by what you told me, I’m glad that you are putting so much trust in me now. You can tell me anything, and you can ask me anything. I want to be an open book for you.”

“I would be very happy if we got to that stage. But now my first question: what is this ring on your finger about?” Sherlock remembered very well seeing it for the first time, more than ten years ago. He had been on a visit to their parents for Christmas, lolling in an armchair in their living room, when Mycroft had come in and had greeted their father with a handshake. Sherlock could recall feeling his heart literally stop at the sight of the golden band on his finger, and then their mother had screamed and asked his brother if he had forgotten to tell them something. And Mycroft had known at once what she’d been about, but he had shrugged and said it was only a ring, nothing to be excited about. Sherlock had known that he was lying but since his brother was his usual cold, stiff self, he had understood that he had certainly not married anyone, and he had tried to hide his relief behind the friendly remark that this should have been clear as nobody would be so crazy to choose Mycroft as their husband. But whenever they had met and he had not been totally drugged, he had wondered about the ring. He had mocked him because of it. But he had never dared ask him about it. But of course now he could.

Mycroft looked very surprised, then he smiled. “On one hand, I wear it so I seem taken. Of course I don’t think that people would be all over me if I didn’t wear it, but it just keeps anybody from even trying anything.”

“You’ve never wanted that? Meeting someone you could love and be together with?”

“No. I told you that I did see a couple of men but I made it very clear right away that I wasn’t interested in a relationship with them. It was just to get some experience. I’ve never cared about anybody out there and there was no point in encouraging anyone.”

Sherlock was fighting the urge to kiss him once more. “You said _on one hand_ , meaning there are more reasons?”

Mycroft smiled. Then he carefully took the ring from his finger and handed it over to Sherlock. “Take a look at the inside.”

Sherlock did as he was told and discovered that there was an engraving. To his total surprise he saw the letters _WSSH_ , his full initials, plus the word _Forever_. He looked at Mycroft speechlessly.

“On the other hand it should always remind me that I am indeed taken and by whom. Not that I could have ever forgotten about it. And now it seems even more fitting, don’t you think?”

Sherlock thought that even though he’d never used this word in his entire life, this was the most fucking _romantic_ thing he could imagine. And then he thought again of the vicious words he had said to him back then and he hoped Mycroft wouldn’t remember them. But he knew that he did... “Let’s go back, Mycie. I need to be alone with you so I can properly show you what this means to me.” _And say sorry for having been such an arsehole..._

Mycroft smiled fondly. “No objections from my side, brother mine. When the delivery boy is through, I’m totally in your hands.” He held his hand out and Sherlock put the ring back on his finger. It felt like… it felt like they were getting _married_ …

 _I know who would be so crazy. I would... I love you so much_ , Sherlock thought and caught his brother’s gaze.

 _I’ll love you for eternity_ , was the answer in Mycroft’s eyes.

It took all of Sherlock’s self-control to not pull his brother in for a kiss. But he slightly touched his waist and then they started leaving the park, again in silence. Sherlock wanted to ask Mycroft more questions but he felt that he needed more time to get over what Sherlock had just told him.

They had almost reached the exit when Sherlock heard a child's voice shouting: “Benny, come back, don’t run onto the street!”

He turned around but it had already reached them, a Beagle puppy, looking at them with big brown eyes, and it rushed at Mycroft’s shiny, brown shoes and started chewing and pulling at the laces until the little ears were flying.

To Sherlock’s total surprise Mycroft just laughed. He carefully got on his knees and gently stroked over the round, little head with these wonderful long fingers, and the dog let go of his shoes and enthusiastically started licking his hand.

“Are you a sweet little bugger?” Mycroft whispered and Sherlock felt a wide smile appearing on his face. The dog tried to crawl up on his brother’s knees and fell backwards onto his back, presenting his little belly to Mycroft who immediately started tickling it.

A little boy with red curls reached them, breathing fast. “Thank you for catching him, mister,” he stammered and Mycroft got up, a little reluctant as it appeared, and looked down on the boy with a stony face.

“You should take better care of your dog, young man. It’s dangerous to let it run around like that.”

“Yes, mister, I’m sorry, he just ran away. Come Benny, Mummy is waiting for us.” He took the dog in his arms and ran back into the park.

“Iceman, huh?” Sherlock teased his lover.

Mycroft smiled and shrugged. “I should have mentioned that I only am for people.”

“You should get a dog of your own.”

“I’d love to. But I’m out of the house the entire day, it’s just not possible.”

_We should have a dog in our home and I’d walk him during the day and at night he’d sleep at our feet in our bed._

“Let’s go, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a sad smile, obviously knowing exactly what he was thinking again.

 _Someday it’s going to be that way, no matter what it takes_ , Sherlock thought. _Someday..._


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A little hot, a little angsty...

Mycroft grinned at the wide eyes Sherlock made when he saw all the food that had just been delivered.

“I didn’t know you’re having a party tonight, Mycie. And champagne, too! Will the Queen honour us with her presence?”

“I’m sorry to tell you that she had to cancel because of urgent matters. So it will be only you and me I’m afraid.” Mycroft continued packing the groceries into the fridge. It was difficult for him to match Sherlock’s easy tone after what he had heard earlier but he pushed it aside. It killed him to think that in the end it had been him who had caused Sherlock to go through hell for years. But nothing could change this past anymore. But he could change the future and he would. Sherlock would never suffer because of him again. _Yes? But he will. Because you can never take his hand in public, never tell anyone how much you love him, never... Shut up!_

“We cannot eat all this in a week!”

Mycroft was grateful that Sherlock had interrupted his cheerful conversation with the ever-nagging voice in his head. “Most of it will stay fresh for a couple of days, don’t worry. You need some flesh on your ribs.” He thought right away this had not been a good thing to say. Sherlock would certainly fire back with a joke about his weight.

“So you don’t like your men bony?” Sherlock instead asked and handed him the last package of cheese.

“I love you just the way you are - other men don’t matter to me. I just want to take good care of you.”

“Oh Mycie, you are so cute.” Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. “Always too concerned but simply cute.” He kissed him on the cheek, then on the throat.

Mycroft embraced his thin waist, enjoying the kisses, and smiled. He was sure that he had never been called _cute_ in his entire life. But coming from Sherlock’s pretty lips, it was like sweet music to him, and he felt only a little bit silly. “I will prepare something to eat for us now and then we can talk a little more or...”

“I will choose _or_ for now. You have to admit that I was very patient and deserve a reward.”

“You think so? And what kind of reward are you looking for?”

Sherlock drew back a little so Mycroft could look into his eyes. Their expression was so full of love, so promising and sexy that Mycroft got hard instantly. “Oh Sherlock, you have no idea what you are doing to me.”

His brother looked down at his crotch and smirked. “I’m getting a pretty good impression, Mycie. But that’s only fair because you just make me crazy.”

“I’ve always done.”

“Um, yes. But somehow I like this kind of craziness a lot better.” He reached out and let his long fingers slide over the bulge in Mycroft’s jeans, and Mycroft felt his cock stiffening even more just by this gentle touch.

“Well, maybe we can eat a little later?” he suggested. He was amazed that he could even speak at all when all his blood was needed somewhere other than his brain. About which he was very thankful for, in more than one way.

“Oh yes. And then we will be so hungry!”

Hand in hand they went upstairs and straight into the bedroom. Mycroft couldn’t remember whether he had ever seen this room in the middle of the day. It had definitely become his favourite place in the house. Followed by the shower.

“What would you like to do now, Sherlock? I mean, do you have anything specific in mind?” No matter how excited he was, it would be about Sherlock and only about him.

“Indeed. I want you to fuck me now, Mycroft. I’ve thought about it all day.”

Mycroft swallowed hard. He wasn’t exactly sure if he’d last longer than Sherlock did earlier. “I will, with pleasure. But I think it’d be better if you helped me take the edge off first, then I will of course need a little time to recover, but it will be much better afterwards.”

“Okay, that sounded rather complicated. In short you are saying that you need to shoot your load now, then build up a new one for about... an hour?”

“That sounds reasonable. Could be a little longer. But we won’t get bored in the meantime.”

“I’m absolutely sure that we won’t. Tell me what you want me to do first then. Give me orders.”

Mycroft couldn’t believe his ears. “You want me to give you _orders_?!”

Sherlock grinned at him. “You wouldn’t have thought you’d ever hear me say that I guess. But yes, be my boss, order me.”

Mycroft didn’t know what to say to this. “Sherlock, I don’t want to be your boss. I know I tend to be...”

“Honey, see it as roleplaying, nothing else. It turns me on when you tell me what you want me to do; you did this morning and I loved it.”

“I did? And what did you just call me?”

Sherlock shook his head, his eyes narrowing. “We are not having a discussion now, are we? It seems I won’t have to take the edge off your excitement anymore because to me it looks as if your cock has lost interest.”

Mycroft grabbed his shoulders. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, it’s just... I don’t want to do anything wrong with you. I know I tend to be overprotective when it comes to you. I just love you too much I guess.” He hated to hear his voice break.

But Sherlock pulled him close and rubbed his cheek on his. “You can never love me too much because I love you from here to heaven and back. Just relax a bit - what did you tell me yesterday? This is not an exam, just us exploring our sexuality? And by the way, we’re also exploring being in a relationship for the first time in our lives. So when I ask you to give me orders, just do it. It’s not as if you’d never done so before.”

“But this is different now, I want you to know that I see you as my equal in this.”

“We _are_ equals. So I will order you, too, when I’m in the mood, and you’ll have to obey.”

Mycroft suddenly felt calm and happy. “That sounds only fair. And you’re right, I’m more relaxed now so we can start right away.”

“Good!” Sherlock immediately took off his shirt and almost sprung out of his jeans.

Mycroft smiled and hurried to undress himself. When they were both naked, they met for a long kiss. Mycroft felt Sherlock’s big, warm hands on his back and bottom and got hard again.”You didn’t answer my question, Sherlock,” he whispered. “What did you call me?”

Sherlock looked surprised for a moment. Then he smiled. “I called you _honey_. Do you like that?”

“Very much so.” He pressed his lover against his body and just breathed him in. “Let’s get on the bed now. I can’t wait to slip into you.”

“Oh, you know just what to say to make me so horny.”

Mycroft smiled and they crawled onto the bed. Sherlock was about to lie down but Mycroft said: “No, darling, I will lie down and you will just take a seat.”

Sherlock looked at him, puzzled. “But I thought...”

“You will take a seat on my face.”

“Oh... my... God!”

Mycroft smiled again. “Like my orders?”

“I love them! Which way should I turn?”

“Facing my feet. There you go. Put your sweet little arse down now. Very good.”

Mycroft grabbed Sherlock’s muscular buttocks, and his mouth watered when he looked at the pink hole offered to him in a very naughty way. He reached for Sherlock’s already swollen balls and licked over them which led to a nice moan from his brother’s mouth. Then he teased the entrance with the tip of his long tongue a couple of times and finally urged Sherlock to properly sit on his mouth and seriously went at it. He sucked the skin around the hole into his mouth and almost chewed on it, then he pressed his tongue into the tight muscle and licked it out. Sherlock was not moaning anymore, he was _screaming_. Mycroft felt him rubbing at his hard cock and was afraid they would both shoot right away but there was no stopping now.

When Mycroft could feel his orgasm coming closer, Sherlock made a fast move with his arse and hit his nose. The pain was so strong that his eyes got wet, but he welcomed it as this turned out to be the perfect calm-down medicine. He just hoped that he wouldn’t start bleeding again and spoil this unbelievably hot moment; the pain hadn’t done in the least. He ignored it and went on licking and kissing and sucking until all at once he heard Sherlock shout his name and a few splashes of hot semen landed on his chest and belly.

Sherlock moved away from him and lay down next to him. “I’m so sorry, Mycie, I just couldn’t last any longer.”

He seemed to be upset and Mycroft smiled, trying not to show the pain it caused. “Don’t you worry, Sherlock, I’m very sure you will be ready very soon again and until then, I will loosen you up a bit more so I won’t hurt you. Can you hand me a tissue, please?”

Sherlock looked still embarrassed but fumbled a tissue out of the box and cleaned his mess from Mycroft’s skin and his own cock.

“Is everything okay with you?” he asked and turned white all at once. “Oh my God, I hit your nose.”

“Is it bleeding?” Mycroft reached up to feel for it but Sherlock shook his head.

“No, but it looks redder now. I’m so sorry, it must hurt so much.”

“I’m a big boy, Sherlock, this is not going to keep me from going on. It’s already better.”

“If you say so.”

“I do. Don’t think about it anymore. I want you to just enjoy.”

“I want it now, Mycroft. Forget the preparation. We’ll do it without that.”

“What? No way, I could hurt you and...”

“Now, Mycroft. That’s an order. And you’ve promised to obey.” Mycroft continued to protest, but Sherlock ignored it and reached for the drawer and took out the lube. He opened the bottle and put some on his hand and reached behind himself, rubbing it into his hole. “So, now a little bit on your cock and there we go. You’ve prepared me with your tongue already, that’s enough. It was wonderful by the way but you probably noticed.”

“This is unwise, brother mine. If you insist on it, so be it. But then you will at least be on top of me so you can control it.” He got up into a sitting position and put more lube on his still hard cock and stroked it to full hardness which was very easy as he couldn’t take his eyes off Sherlock’s body. “Come here now.”

Sherlock took a seat on his lap, cupped his face with his huge hands and kissed him. “Take me, Mycie. I can’t wait.” His hands slid down to Mycroft’s shoulders and rested on them.

Mycroft couldn’t believe his eyes when he realised Sherlock was already getting hard again. He grabbed his waist with his right hand and gently pushed him down and the left one lined up his cock until the head was touching Sherlock’s wet hole. They kissed again. “Now go down, slowly, don’t rush it.” He moaned loudly when his head was sucked into the incredibly tight heat and his moan was matched by Sherlock.

“You okay?” he asked and Sherlock just nodded and pressed more of Mycroft’s cock inside of him. His own member was dripping already, and Mycroft closed his right hand around it, let his thumb circle around the head and stroked it. He was overwhelmed by a conglomerate of feelings, first of all of course the wet heat he was buried into as Sherlock finally went down completely and took all of his cock; the throbbing pain in his nose that he was so grateful for because it kept him from shooting into his lover at once; and above everything else, the endless love for the beautiful, perfect man he was conquering. He looked at Sherlock who had started moving faster, riding him, with his head lolling back, his eyes closed, moaning as rhythmically as his body was moving.

All at once Mycroft felt an urge to change their positions. He embraced Sherlock’s waist with one arm, got on his knees and lifted him at the same time and put him on his back, while he was still inside him. Sherlock looked at him, confused at first, but then he smiled happily when Mycroft was all over him, thrusting into him with slow, deliberate strokes. He could feel that Sherlock got used to them pretty quickly, his tight muscle showing less resistance with every thrust, and he sped up his movements.

“You okay?” he asked again, hardly able to speak, and Sherlock just answered: “Fuck me, Mycie, fuck me as hard as you can.”

And Mycroft obeyed, soon covered in sweat and feeling as if he’d start to live just in this moment; fucking the man under him without any retention, thrust by thrust, one harder than the other, until the climax hit him so hard that he felt as if his eyes were flying out of his head, he screamed so loud that it hurt his own ears, and he felt his semen shoot in Sherlock’s body with an unbelievable force. His head was spinning but he was still clear enough to shift his body and roughly grab his lover’s cock and make him come with a scream while he was still inside him. Finally he pulled back and just lay down all over Sherlock who embraced him tightly.

“Thank you, Mycie,” he heard Sherlock whisper. “That was... beyond words.”

“It was indeed,” Mycroft brought out. He was feeling as if he had been run over by a Grizzly bear but at the same time better than ever before. He lifted his head and kissed Sherlock gently. In their intimate silence Sherlock’s stomach growled loudly and they both laughed. “Time for a very late lunch or early dinner?” Mycroft asked.

“Yep, now you can feed me.”

“I love you, Sherlock.”

“I love you, too. So, now we’ll eat quickly and then we’ll go back here and do that again.”

“Oh, _Sherlock_!” With a happy chuckle Sherlock kissed him on the lips once more, gently pushed him from his body and jumped out of the bed, and Mycroft didn’t have any doubt that this had not been a joke.

*****

Mycroft prepared the dinner as he had promised, and they ate in the living room. Sherlock couldn’t remember having been that hungry in all his life and gorged the delicious food down with great appetite, not in the least bothered by the amused looks Mycroft gave him. After they had finished their fabulous meal, they sat on the sofa together and watched the news and a pretty boring documentary about the Royal Family. Sherlock had never known who belonged to it and never cared. Now he more or less _hated_ them all because they symbolised the country that would take his lover away from him very soon for each full day. For a short while he’d be allowed to spend at least the nights with him but soon enough he’d have to leave his house. And then all he could hope for was seeing him in the evenings and perhaps talking to him for a case, with John standing beside them so they would have to play The-Ever-Bickering-Holmes-Brothers. He hoped that Mycroft would really take him with him to this conference and perhaps at other times when he had to travel, but he was not so sure this was going to work out. He knew that a lot of heartache was waiting for him.

He slid into these depressing thoughts more and more and was relieved when the documentary was over. “Will we go upstairs now?”

Mycroft seemed to swallow. “Yes, of course. But I think it’s time for the champagne first.”

“Great idea! Get the glasses, I’ll open the bottle and then we’ll take all of it upstairs!”

Mycroft seemed to want to say something, but then he simply nodded. Sherlock pressed a quick kiss on his cheek and went to the kitchen to take care of the bottle. They met at the stairs and Sherlock sprung up them, followed by Mycroft who walked rather slowly.

After getting on the bed Sherlock filled their glasses. “To our relationship, Mycie. May it last forever!”

Mycroft smiled at him and clinked his glass. “A toast to that!”

“Well, that’s really good stuff.”

“I’m glad you find it agreeable.” Both of them put their empty glasses on the night stand.

“What would you like to do now?” Mycroft asked him and Sherlock could have sworn that he had heard a little fear in his voice.

“Oh, something really exotic and spectacular and breathtaking!”

Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment. “Alright. And what would that be, exactly?”

“I want to cuddle with you.”

Mycroft stared at him. “ _Cuddle_?”

“You know, it’s something nice and tender and people do it when they are too exhausted to have sex with each other.”

Mycroft seemed to crumple before his eyes. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I didn’t want...”

Sherlock felt bad at once. “Mycie, I’m just teasing you.” He put his arm around his brother’s shoulders and pulled him close. “I remember very well what you said this morning about needing breaks between our encounters, and even though I’ve saved my sexual energy for so many years that I seem to have endless supplies now, I know we cannot continue with the pace we’ve had the last two days. I didn’t force you to stay away from work to manhandle you but to allow you to have the rest you need with your hurt head and all you went through in Sherrinford. I don’t want you to run to work on Monday, grateful to be still alive and to finally have a some peace and quiet. I don’t want you to run away from me.” He closed the short distance between their faces and kissed his brother.

Mycroft kissed him back and touched his face with a sheepish smile. “I would never run away from you but I’m glad you understand it, Sherlock. I would love to make love to you again now, but...”

“You don’t want to drop dead, I know. If you want, we can either watch TV or take a nap, we don’t have to do anything. Maybe you’d even prefer to be by yourself for a while.” He really hoped Mycroft wouldn’t say he should indeed leave him alone.

“No way, Sherlock, I want you to be with me, and cuddling sounds heavenly to me.”

“Fine. But... we can undress, can’t we?”

“Of course. But your hands will stay above my waist,” Mycroft said with a wink.

“We will put the blanket over it so I don’t get seduced.” They smiled at each other and undressed, each on his side of the bed. Sherlock was amazed that he already had _his_ side. He filled their glasses again and they drank. Mycroft emptied his glass very fast and put it aside, and Sherlock took a big gulp of his champagne and kept it in his mouth. As soon as Mycroft had put the blanket over them, Sherlock leaned over, and when their lips met, he let the liquid flow into Mycroft’s mouth. Mycroft seemed surprised but swallowed it with a smile, and the kiss got more and more passionate. Sherlock of course got hard at once but forced himself to ignore it.

Mycroft noticed it nevertheless. “I can suck you if you want,” he suggested.

It took all of Sherlock’s self-control to not accept his offer enthusiastically. “No, thank you, Mycie. We will just _cuddle_.”

“Oh I love you, my silly, little angel.”

“ _Little angel_? _Silly,_ little angel?! I should have known that alcohol is not good for you, Mycie.” He kissed him again tenderly. Mycroft pulled him into a very tight embrace, nibbled and licked at his chin, his ear, his throat. Sherlock closed his eyes and gave into the moment, his arms were slung around his brother’s waist, his hands flat on his back, sometimes sliding down until they almost reached his butt but he refrained from going lower. It wasn’t long though until he felt something big and hard and wet pushing against his groin.

Mycroft pulled back a little. “I’m sorry, it seems he doesn’t understand the concept of cuddling.”

“He’s in good company, don’t you worry.” They shared another warm smile, and Sherlock decided it was his turn to take care of Mycroft’s upper body. He licked down his throat and his chest until his lips found a delicious, hard nipple that just screamed to be taken in his mouth and licked and sucked at. Mycroft’s moans were music to his ears, and he was not overly surprised when he felt his brother’s big hands searching for his throbbing cock. When Mycroft’s fingers had started stroking it, they looked at each other.

“Perhaps it’s not the time for cuddling,” Mycroft said with a wink.

“It’s become a little pointless,” Sherlock agreed. “But surely we can do something that doesn’t cause you to have a heart attack? By the way, did you take your blood pressure pill today?”

“I did, otherwise you’d have needed to call an ambulance hours ago. And what do you think about a nice and slow 69?”

“Sounds great to me.”

And it was. Worshipping Mycroft’s big, tasty cock with his hand and lips while his own was getting worked over by his brother’s very talented tongue was devilishly hot. It was a rather short pleasure though as neither of them was able to last long. Sherlock did his very best but when Mycroft moaned loudly around his knob and his hot seed flooded Sherlock’s mouth, he followed him in an instant.

It was only eight-thirty once they had showered together (this time without going at it) but Sherlock thought his brother looked very tired. “Shall we just go to sleep?” he asked when they entered the bedroom. He didn’t mind at all because after all the wonderful sex they had had over the day, he felt as if he’d sleep like a stone himself.

“If you can live with that. The sooner we fall asleep, the earlier we’ll be awake tomorrow and... go to the zoo or visit a museum. And I’ve always wanted to see St. Paul’s again.”

Sherlock looked at him with narrowed eyes. “No alcohol for you anymore, that’s for sure.”

Mycroft laughed out loud and Sherlock just loved the sound. Then he rubbed Sherlock’s cheek with his thumb. “Sherlock, what I need to tell you... These last two days and nights, they have been the very best time of my life. It’s as if I had not even truly lived before. I love you from the bottom of my heart and to be together with you this way is like dying and waking up in paradise. Well, that might not have been a good metaphor but you know what I mean.”

Sherlock had trouble with his eyes all at once. “I know it, yes. And I love you so much that I think my heart will explode. What’s happening between us is everything I’ve ever wished for, just a million times better. And I will never let you go again.”

Mycroft took him in his arms and pressed his lips to his mouth, and he kissed him back, putting all his feelings into it. They reluctantly broke the kiss to get into the bed and as soon as they were settled and Mycroft had turned the light off, they went on lip-locking until Sherlock felt sleep take over.

*****

Sherlock woke up indeed very early that Saturday morning. Mycroft was still asleep, lying flat on his back, and Sherlock watched him sleeping for a long while. The bulge on his forehead had almost disappeared, but the bruises were still visible. Thank God his nose had not been hurt more by his little accidents during their sex romps, and while it was still swollen it also looked better. The balm he had applied on Mycroft’s wounds every morning had helped so Mycroft was almost as handsome as he usually was. Sherlock was relieved that the blanket was still over his body because he was very eager to not demand more from his brother than he was capable of giving, and seeing him in the nude would have inevitably led to an uncontrollable desire to have sex with him. But if he was really honest to himself, he still wanted to rip the blanket away and be all over him.

Instead of giving into this desire, he quietly got out of bed and took care of his morning hygiene as inaudibly as possible. After a quick shower he dressed, shaved and brushed his teeth, and then he went to the kitchen and prepared tea and breakfast. It felt so good to do all these things in this house he already saw as his home even though he had not seen much more of it than Mycroft’s bedroom, the kitchen, the bathroom, the guest room he had put his stuff into at the first day, and the living room. It made him physically sick to think about leaving this house to go back to Baker Street. He just had no idea how he was supposed to survive another night without the man he loved.

Afraid he’d burst out into tears, he put the finished tea in the thermos flask and the sandwiches he had made in the fridge and went to take a tour through the silent house. There was another guest room, a bathroom, Mycroft’s office and his training room. Sherlock smiled when he imagined Mycroft working out, lifting weights and doing cardio. He loved his brother’s lean and trained body so much. But the office was even more interesting to him. He wasn’t sure Mycroft would be very fond to find him in there so he just opened the door (he was more than a little surprised that it wasn’t locked) and took a look around.

The room was very neat just like everything else in the house; there were no files lying around, the desk was clear except for a silver frame facing away from the door. Too curious to let it be, Sherlock entered the room and sat down in Mycroft’s leather chair to have a look at the picture. After seeing the engraving on the ring he was not that surprised that it was a photo of himself. But what irritated him though was that it was not a picture he had ever seen - it had obviously been shot from pretty far away without his knowledge, in front of Baker Street. Did Mycroft send a detective after him to observe him? That would have been pretty ironic…

“I know I could have asked you for a photograph, but I was sure you would have just laughed and called me an idiot.”

Sherlock startled and shot up from the chair. Mycroft stood in the open door, with damp hair and a cleanly shaven face, again dressed in a casual shirt and jeans. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come into this room. But I just wanted to see the photo.”

“Sherlock, I told you that you can use everything in this house, there are no restricted areas for you. And the secret files are all locked away.” Mycroft went to the desk and looked at the picture himself. “I know it seems pathetic but I didn’t want to look at a picture of you as a boy, and in all the later family photographs you were either missing or facing away from the camera.”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, I’ve never liked to have my picture taken. And I’ve never liked family dinners and all these boring things.”

“I know. Me neither. The parties would have been a lot nicer though if you had spoken to me.” He reached up and stroked Sherlock’s face. “But now I know why you’ve always avoided me.”

Sherlock felt the urge to hammer his own head on the desk. “I still can’t believe we haven’t noticed what the other one was feeling.” He embraced Mycroft and kissed him for the first time that day. “But this picture, who took it?”

Mycroft smiled sheepishly. “I took it myself. I was waiting for you to leave the flat, hidden away on the other side of the street.”

Sherlock needed a moment to get over the impression of his brother lurking behind a car for him to appear so he could take a photograph he could admire. “But you’d have never said anything. You would have gone on suffering from heartache and never would have told me how you felt about me.”

“Sherlock, speaking about feelings, let alone these ones, was never easy for me.”

Sherlock chuckled. “What an understatement. But are you happy it just broke out of me that night?” He knew Mycroft was but he would never get tired of hearing him admit to his feelings now.

“More than I could ever say.” He pulled Sherlock in a tight embrace. “I love you so much and I will never allow you to disappear from my life again.”

After a long, tender kiss Sherlock asked: “Does your housekeeper come in this room?”

“No, never. It’s not that I don’t trust her but this room is always locked. I must have forgotten it the last time obviously. Or did you break the lock?” he asked with a wink.

“I would never ever do something like that!” Sherlock protested with a wink of his own. “But if this room is secure, what do you think of taking a selfie together and printing it out for the frame?”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “A decent one or…?”

“Of course a decent one! Just our smiling faces. To remind you who loves you most in all this world and thinks of you every single second. So you can never forget that when you’re working in here and I’m not with you.” He knew he sounded pathetic but he couldn’t help it.

Mycroft cupped his face with his hands. “It’s a great idea to take such a picture but I won’t need a reminder of your love. I swear to you by all that’s holy that we will see each other every day and you will never have to doubt my feelings for you anymore.”

“I believe you that you’ll try your best but you can’t promise that you’ll make time for me every day. As long as I can stay here it will be okay as we’ll be together at night. But when I’m back at Baker Street? And I’ll have to avoid stupid questions from _John_ …” He knew he had said the name of his former best friend as if he was his worst enemy but he couldn’t help it. “I must get rid of him,” he realised in this moment.

“Sherlock, you two belong together -  professionally, I mean. You can’t just _get rid of him_.” Mycroft sounded almost shocked.

“Of course I can. I don’t need him to solve cases.” He didn’t even _want_ to solve cases anymore but he refrained from saying that out loud. “And I can write that fucking blog myself.”

Mycroft was apparently searching for words. “Sherlock, please be reasonable, you cannot do that without causing suspicion. It will be hard enough to explain to him that you are staying with me instead of going back to his flat once I’m at work again and not in need of your care anymore. What would he think if you told him that you didn’t want him around at all anymore?”

“Maybe I should go back to him then if you are so concerned about that,” Sherlock snapped and stormed out of the room.

“Sherlock, please!” he heard his brother shout but he just couldn’t talk to him now. He fled into the next bathroom and locked the door. Tears were finally pouring out of his eyes and, sitting on the toilet, he sobbed like the little kid Mycroft would certainly think he resembled now. He cried for more than ten minutes until his eyes felt as if they had been washed out with sand. With bitterness he remembered how he’d thought about the problems they would be forced to deal with and how convinced he had been that he could go on like before, fooling everyone and just live his usual life. But he was now realising that that life was over for him. He didn’t give a shit about solving puzzles; seeing any of his so-called friends; being the clever detective. All he wanted was to be with Mycroft, spending all day and night with him. Only, his brother was, while without a doubt in love with him, already planning to do exactly that, being Mr British Government like he’d always been. How long would it take until having to see Sherlock every day would just be another obligation in a life of sacrificing himself to other people’s and his country’s needs?

Feeling totally hopeless but knowing he couldn’t stay locked away in the bathroom for the entire day, he cooled his swollen face with cold water and opened the door. He saw nothing of his brother and went to the bedroom to just crawl back into the bed and put the blanket over his head. But there Mycroft was, lying on the bed fully clothed, a tablet with the breakfast Sherlock had prepared on the nightstand. He looked up to Sherlock and quietly said: “Come here. Sit down.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “I should leave. Go to John. This is not going to work.”

“Sherlock, come here,” Mycroft demanded in a louder voice. “It’s an order.”

“This is not funny.” But Sherlock sat down on the bed, at least for about five seconds, until he was grabbed around the waist and pulled against Mycroft’s body. His brother’s arms closed around him and the tears returned. He pressed his face against Mycroft’s throat and gave into the desperation, crying and sobbing like a child and he hated it. Mycroft didn’t seem to mind at all and whispered words of comfort and stroked his hair and breathed kisses on it. Finally he re-gathered control of himself but the pain didn’t leave his heart. He sacked against Mycroft and endured having his face cleaned with a tissue.

Mycroft then reached over and he heard the noise of tea pouring into a cup. “Here, baby, drink that. But be careful, it’s still very hot.”

Sherlock sipped at the strong tea he had made and took the sandwich Mycroft handed him. He was not hungry at all but bit into it mechanically. Mycroft didn’t eat but just watched him while still holding him close.

“I’m sorry,” Sherlock finally said and put his half-eaten sandwich on the plate.

“Sorry for what? That you cried? Or that you want to break off our relationship?” Mycroft asked in a neutral tone.

“I don’t want to break it off! That’s the last thing I want. I just don’t know how to deal with what will happen.”

“So what do you think will happen?” His tone was much softer now and he sounded relieved.

But Sherlock just had to say it now. “You will get tired of me because I will be a burden, no matter what you say. I will just have to think of you all day and night and you won’t be there and it will kill me.”

“My God, Sherlock, how can you ever think that?” Mycroft sounded completely shocked. “I meant everything I said, I will make time for you, no, for us! And not because I have to but because I will miss you and long for you exactly the same way as you will. We are both grown up, we know we have obligations and responsibilities but that will not keep us from being together. I promise you, I swear to you once more that it will work.” He grabbed Sherlock’s face almost painfully hard. “Sherlock, I don’t say it will always be easy. You need to play your part, going on as if nothing had changed. And so do I. As much as I wished myself that we could just lock ourselves away in this house and forget about the world outside.”

“I don’t think I can. All that, it doesn’t matter to me anymore. I don’t want to be Sherlock Holmes anymore.”

“But you’ll have to be. That’s what defines you as much as my work defines me. But that doesn’t mean we can’t be together as lovers. And you have a new case: I’m engaging you now.”

“You? And what am I supposed to do for you?”

“Make me happy. Be the man I’ve been admiring for years now with your cleverness and your ability to help people and make the world a better place for them.”

“You don’t care about these people, Mycroft.” _And I’m afraid neither do I…_

“No, but you do. The man I love is the man who does things nobody else can, who New Scotland Yard consults for help and who is just the most impressive man I’ve ever met.”

How kind he was. He knew of course that he could do anything that Sherlock was capable of as well, and probably even better. Sherlock closed his eyes. “I will do my best. But I’ll hate every second that I have to spend without you.”

“So will I, Sherlock. But what can we do?”

 _Run away together, Mycie. Run away from all these silly responsibilities of yours and go somewhere where we don’t have to hide our love…_ He didn’t say it. He knew it was not going to happen and it made his heart so heavy.

Mycroft looked at him, his concern written in his eyes. “Don’t be depressed anymore, darling. Let’s enjoy the time we have together.”

 _Yes, because it will be very short. Two more days and then there will only be the nights and when I have to move …_ “So,” Sherlock said, forcing himself to return to the easy tone of the last couple of days, “if you are engaging me, how do you want to pay for my efforts?”

“I’m not sure, what are your usual charges?” It was clear that Mycroft had just as much trouble to sound light and happy.

“There will be special conditions for you.”

“Yes? And what exactly do they include?”

Sherlock couldn’t believe it himself, but he was getting hard again. After crying like a baby and while he was still feeling so sad, he was ready to have sex with Mycroft again. He didn’t answer but took Mycroft’s right hand and put it on the bulge in his jeans.

“Oh, I see. Will a nice blowjob do as a first instalment?” He opened the zipper and reached into the fly.

“That might be agreeable to me. If it’s done adequately of course.”

“Of course. Well, let’s see what I can do.”

*****

Mycroft freed Sherlock from his jeans and went at it. He licked over the red, swollen head and down to his balls, then took the long shaft completely in his mouth and sucked increasingly hard. He heard Sherlock moan quietly and felt his fingers caress his neck. But the passion of the last times was missing. Sherlock’s body was reacting, but his heart was not in it and Mycroft felt the same way. He knew all too well that sex was not the answer to their problems but just an - albeit pleasant - way to get out of the unpleasant conversation. Unfortunately he couldn’t see another way out of it. No matter how many times he’d tell him, his brother wasn’t going to believe that he would do anything to keep their relationship healthy and great. And why should he? Hadn’t work always been his number one priority? Had he really tried during the last decades to get close to his brother? Sherlock was so right, Mycroft would have never crossed the line and told him that he loved and desired him if Sherlock had not made the first step. Not only because he’d never expected it would be reciprocated but because he was a coward. He thought, very embittered, that he should thank Eurus for getting Sherlock to come over to him and make all this possible.

He got a feeling of ice-cold fingers pressing his heart together when he imagined how his responsibilities could possibly interfere with his promise to see Sherlock every day, and how Sherlock would react to that if it happened more than once. Perhaps even one time would be enough to convince Sherlock that he didn’t mean what he said and make him feel bad and desperate and unable to trust him anymore. His only hope was that Sherlock would jump into his next case and enjoy his work again, to continue with his life and not only rely on Mycroft to make him happy. Because after all these years of sacrificing his private life to his country, people would react badly to Mycroft wanting to have a lot more free time, especially as he would not be able to give them an explanation other than _I need the time for the romantic relationship with my brother_. But nevertheless he was absolutely determined to make it happen. It just had to work.

“Harder, please,” Sherlock requested and Mycroft increased his sucking movements, trying to not get distracted anymore and put all his effort in making Sherlock feel good. That Sherlock had not come minutes ago was not only because of Mycroft getting lost in his thoughts but because Sherlock was still feeling sad, one look into his eyes told him everything he had to know. Finally Sherlock moaned loudly and came into his mouth, not surprisingly a lot less intensely than before.

Mycroft lay down next to him and Sherlock touched his face. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to spoil everything and I don’t want to put pressure on you. I know how deeply you are devoted to your work and you shouldn’t neglect it because of me. I’m a big boy, too.”

Mycroft should have been relieved but he knew that even though Sherlock meant what he said, he would still suffer enormously if Mycroft broke his promise and it would hurt their relationship. But they would have to face that one step at a time. “I love you, Sherlock. And perhaps there might be days when it gets very difficult to meet up.” He hated to say it but what was the point in claiming there wouldn’t be a problem. “But it’s not because I don’t want to. And if it ever really happens that we cannot see each other, I will make up for it.”

Sherlock sent him a sad smile. “I know you will.” He reached out for Mycroft’s groin and started stroking him through his trousers. Mycroft was very surprised that his cock jumped to attention at once. “Make love to me, Mycie, please?”

He had never undressed faster. Without having to ask Sherlock he knew that his brother didn’t want a long preparation so he just applied lube on both his cock and Sherlock’s entrance and very slowly entered him, face to face, his eyes constantly checking Sherlock’s expressions to make sure he wasn’t hurting him too much. Then Sherlock kissed him and they just went on kissing while he was moving forward in slow increments until he was fully seated in him. They looked in each other’s eyes and Mycroft saw pain, coming from the soul, not from his body, and fear, but most of all, endless love in Sherlock’s beautiful eyes and he knew his own were matching all of these expressions. There was so much he wanted to say but in the end they were both silent, just cherishing this moment. Then Sherlock nodded and he started thrusting into him, but much more careful than the time before, and when the climax came to both of them, it was intense and great, but much more than a sexual fulfilment, it was a promise of love and the willingness to always fight for what they had.

 


	5. Chapter 5

They stayed in bed for another hour, this time really just cuddling. With every kiss, every tender touch, every deep look into each other’s eyes, Mycroft’s heart overflowed more with love for the beautiful, young man in his arms. They hardly spoke, and when they did it was to reassure the other one of their love. They had opened the window, and the morning sun was shining brightly in the room, and they heard the lovely singing of the birds outside. Mycroft realised that being with Sherlock like that, so quiet and intimate and tender, did more to make his brother trust him than any words he could have said, he could see it in his fantastic eyes. His fear of failing him lurked in the back of his head, but he tried not to let it show because failure was simply not an option.

“What do you think of a little training session?” Mycroft finally suggested.

“Oh great idea, where’s the lube?”

“Um, actually I was rather thinking of…”

“I know, gorgeous, I’m just kidding.”

“Which doesn’t mean that kind of training isn’t on the schedule for later today.”

“I should hope so. But perhaps at the bottom of your cruel heart you think that if you make me compete with you in the gym, I will be so exhausted afterwards that I cannot move anymore and won’t be able to get it up.”

“Sherlock, I have never…”

“Calm down, Mycie, I’m still just kidding.”

Mycroft sighed deeply. “Why is it that I’m never able to tell if you are serious or if you are making fun of me?”

“That’s not true, Mycie, usually you can. But I hurt you earlier and hurt myself as well and now you’re too afraid that I’m getting at you again or having another breakdown.”

“Oh Sherlock, I wished so much…” He broke off, too uneasy to continue.

Sherlock put his arm around his neck and kissed him on the cheek. “I know, babe. I know that you think I’m being a difficult brat like I’ve always been and you don’t know how to deal with it.”

“No, I would never think… You are kidding again, aren’t you?”

Sherlock looked at him with a stony expression. “No.”

“I hate you, Sherlock.”

Sherlock chuckled and Mycroft was so happy to see a genuine sparkle in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Mycie, I still do feel uncertain and frightened and sarcasm seems to be the only way to deal with it at the moment. I know I _am_ behaving like a disgusting brat but I’ve never had such feelings before so I think I have an excuse to be unreasonable.”

Mycroft pulled him onto his lap and embraced him very tightly. “I love you so much, Sherlock, never ever forget that for a second.” He felt his brother cling to him and he knew there would be many more times he’d have to convince Sherlock of his love. All he would be able to do was to tell him again and again how much he meant to him, touching it into his skin and kissing it into his soul.

“Well, you should let me go now, Mycie,” he heard Sherlock mumble at his throat. “I guess you haven’t noticed but your touches woke up my lovemaker.”

Mycroft laughed and set him free. “Lovemaker, what a wonderful word.” He looked down at Sherlock’s stiff member and gently touched it. “You want to stay a little longer?”

“Oh yes, I want to. But if I’m to control my desires, I may as well start now. Let’s go to your gym.”

Both of them dressed in shorts and sneakers and went downstairs bare-chested. Mycroft had not worked out for a while but with his sexy, young lover he was very willing to do that a lot more often to live up to his expectations. He even wondered if he could buy a treadmill for each of his offices so he would be able to train during the day. He was sure that he could read reports while running, and he decided to give Anthea the order to organise them for him.

They exercised side by side for the next hour without even a hint of competition. They did cardio and trained their leg muscles and they lent each other a hand while the other one was lifting weights. Mycroft felt his shorts getting a few sizes too small when he watched his brother’s chest, stomach, and arm muscles work while Sherlock was lifting a hundred pounds.

“What a nice view from down here,” Sherlock said with a wink when Mycroft freed him from the heavy bar. “I watched a porn movie the other day where two guys were going at it in the gym and it looks as if you wouldn’t mind to re-enact it.”

“Well, I bet they were a lot more attractive - than me of course, not you,” Mycroft hurried to add.

“Mycroft, none of them could have competed with you. And I wouldn’t want to have sex with another guy, whether in this gym or anywhere else.”

Even though he was completely sure that Sherlock was just flattering him with his first sentence, he was more than happy to hear that.

“Why have you never thought you were attractive?” Sherlock asked while drying off his sweaty body with a towel.

“That’s another one of your jokes, right?”

“No, that’s another one of my questions to find out who exactly you are.”

“Alright, but it can’t be a serious question. Look at you, and then look at me. And then tell me you really think I’m good-looking. It’s like comparing a Greek god to Prince Charles.”

“To whom?”

“Sherlock, you can’t seriously not know…”

“Okay, now I’m kidding. And I understand now why there are no mirrors in your gym. Most people love to watch themselves while they’re working out. I bet you usually close the curtains or come down here at night without making light so you don’t have to watch your ugly legs.”

Mycroft swallowed hard. “Yes, they are ugly, and so is the rest of me. What you see in me at all is a mystery to me.” His erection had disappeared in an instant. Which was totally great as the only thing he was proud of was his big dick. Which was idiotic enough…

“You know, sometimes it’s really hard for me not to slap you in the face.”

“What?” Mycroft stared at his brother disbelievingly.

“You are beautiful, you are sexy, and have you looked at your legs? They’re slim and trained and I could bite some flesh out of them because they look so delicious.”

“You would just have a mouth full of hair if you did that.”

“Oh, not that again. I love your hair, it turns me on to feel it; it’s so full and strong.”

“Yes, totally opposite to the non-existent hair on my head. And did I mention my bulbous nose at all?” He knew he sounded like a silly child and he could have slapped _himself_ to have gotten into this conversation; what was he doing at all, trying to convince the man he loved that he was _ugly_? Perhaps he was not only indeed ugly but completely stupid as well…

“Oh Mycie, it looks like we’re having a deadlock here. You can tell me what you want about making time for me every day, and I can tell you how handsome you are until I drop dead and we both just can’t believe each other.”

Mycroft felt his heart ache at these words. He pulled Sherlock close in his arms. “Honey, what shall I do to make you trust me?”

Sherlock pressed his waist tightly. “It’s not a question of trust at all. I do trust you. But somehow I don’t trust the people around you to allow you to be with me as often as I need you to be. I’m sorry, I didn’t want to bring this up again, we are just circuiting.”

“Please have faith in me, Sherlock. I will be there for you no matter what it takes.” He remembered having told him that it might happen that he’d be kept away from meeting him, and he felt even worse.

“I just don’t want to be a bothersome obligation to you. I know I sound too needy and childish but I’m simply so afraid of losing you again. And it just breaks my heart to even think of not holding you for even one day. My God, I hate that!” He freed himself of Mycroft’s embrace and started walking in circles. “How can it be that within less than three days I’ve become so addicted to you that I just know I won’t be able to live without my new drug for a single day? And how can I get on your nerves with it over and over again and not make you want to run away from my nagging?”

“Yes, I wondered about all this as well, and let me also ask you this: how can you even bear looking at my disgustingly ugly, hairy, dreadful self, let alone touch me and have sex with me without being really drugged?”

Sherlock looked at him speechlessly until Mycroft winked at him to show him that _he_ was kidding this time, and all at once they both started to laugh. All the tension, and fear, and hurt were washed away by their increasingly hysterical laughter, and while Mycroft knew all too well that their insecurities couldn’t be chased away for good by it, it felt so great to laugh until tears were running down his cheeks and until Sherlock was clinging to him again to not fall on the floor.

*****

The rest of the day was the sort of perfect domestic bliss that Sherlock would have never thought he would ever experience. After their workout and the relieving laughter, they showered together and exchanged very satisfying blowjobs. A little nap later they prepared lunch side by side and enjoyed their delicious pasta in the kitchen.

They spent the afternoon on the couch, with Mycroft sitting and Sherlock lying flat on his back, his head resting on his brother’s lap, and they just talked for hours while Mycroft was tousling Sherlock’s hair and gently stroking his face from time to time; at other times their fingers intertwined. Without having agreed on it, both of them chose to speak only about light-hearted matters like serial killers and interesting murders, and Mycroft told Sherlock a lot about his job. They avoided the touchy subjects like Sherlock’s drug abuse and what had led to it. And Sherlock didn’t want to speak about their parents or Eurus, either. It was like they belonged to a different world.

Finally Sherlock got up to be a little higher on Mycroft’s lap and put his head on his chest, right above his heart. He felt it beating fast through the thin shirt, and all at once there was too much fabric separating him from Mycroft’s warm skin. He fingered at the first button of Mycroft’s shirt and looked up to him to make sure he was okay with it. Mycroft smiled and helped him unbutton the shirt and slipped out of it. Sherlock tenderly rubbed his right nipple while sucking on the left one. It was still fascinating for him to notice the prompt and simultaneous reactions of their bodies to his treatment.

It had gone dark outside, and Sherlock decided it was the perfect time to go to bed, but not for sleeping so soon though. “Shall we go upstairs?” he suggested but Mycroft shook his head.

“Why don’t we stay here and make this couch another sex-playground?”

“Oh yes.” Sherlock hurried from the sofa and settled between Mycroft’s legs.

Mycroft raised his brows. “Again?”

Sherlock just grinned and opened his zipper.

“Wait a moment, what do you think about some candle light?” Mycroft suggested. “I’d love to see what happens.”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant and followed Mycroft’s directions to collect one from a cupboard and lit it. He put it on the table next to them but far enough away so he wouldn’t hit it as they last thing he wanted was to cause a fire in Mycroft’s house. He was happy with causing a fire in his groin instead.

In the beautiful candle light he got back on his knees. Mycroft had already started by stroking himself, his long, thick cock was already fully erect. Sherlock hurried to lick the pre-cum from his knob and then swallowed the whole tasty penis down right away, proudly thinking about how fast he had learned to ignore his gag reflex.

Mycroft moaned loudly and gently touched the back of his head. “You like that?” he quietly asked and Sherlock tried to answer but it sounded like _Ofcsldtat_.

“What did you say? Really, Sherlock, has Mummy never told you to not speak with your mouth full?”

Sherlock let his cock plop out and continued with his hand instead. “She did tell me so I apologise. Please don’t let her know that she failed to make me a well-mannered gentleman like her wonderful older son.”

“What do you think she would say if she saw us now?”

“Mycie, do you really think it’s a good idea to talk about _Mummy_ in this situation?”

“I’m sorry, I suppose it isn’t.”

“But actually I think she’d be happy about us getting along so well now.”

Mycroft chuckled. “You know she’d drop dead.”

Sherlock was not so sure about that. He knew that their mother was very concerned about both of her sons being lonely, strange men who would never bring anybody home to her. _But on the other hand…_ ”Yes, I guess she would…” He let his mouth take over again, but then he stopped once more. “And by the way, the answer is yes. I like that very much!”

About five minutes later he cleaned his face with a tissue Mycroft had handed to him. He was proud once more, this time of being able to satisfy his lover with his mouth so expertly already, to have been able to gulp down all he had offered, and also of having not come into his pants by doing so. Obviously he was able to control his excitement better and better and would perhaps last a little longer when he would top him in future.

“Do you want to fuck me now?” Mycroft asked him, and Sherlock almost came when he heard this question. _Not really in control, are we…_ “There’s nothing I would rather do.”

*****

The Sunday began as lovely as the Saturday had ended. They slept long and woke up almost simultaneously, and Mycroft was welcomed by a warm smile, a tender kiss and a strong hand wrapping around his rapidly hardening cock. Sherlock then disappeared under the blanket, and two seconds later indecent sucking noises broke the silence in the room, immediately followed by loud moans out of Mycroft’s mouth. He wondered how he could have ever thought he wouldn’t be able to keep up with his brother sexually. Perhaps just doing it that often had turned the wheel of time back for his body. He knew he still looked like a middle aged man, but he was feeling like he was twenty again.

Sherlock didn’t let him come down his throat this time but instead grabbed the lube and presented Mycroft his arse so he could rub it into him while he was applying a meaningful amount on his dripping cock. And then he settled himself on it, facing Mycroft, and slowly took it in his tight hole.

Mycroft knew that even if he was to grow to a hundred years old, he’d never forget the picture of Sherlock riding on him in the beautiful morning sun, his naked body exposed to him, shimmering like gold, his big dick standing straight up without having been touched at all, his curls flying, his eyes fixed on Mycroft’s as if nothing and nobody in this world existed except for them. In the same moment that Mycroft’s semen shot up inside his body, Sherlock came all over his chest and face and then he collapsed on him.

After another delicious lunch Sherlock suggested they go to the park again as the weather was warm and lovely. Mycroft needed all his self-control to not reach for Sherlock’s hand to hold it, and a look in Sherlock’s face told him his brother was thinking about that, too. They were silent almost the entire way in opposition to the afternoon before, when they had spoken with each other more than in their entire life altogether whilst snuggling on the couch. It was as if being in public made them more aware of the impossibility of their relationship in everybody else’s eyes, and the sadness about that kept them silent.

“Isn’t it my turn to ask you something about yourself?” he finally asked when they were walking through the park. Their conversation on the sofa had not led to any deeper revelations about their characters but had more been a share of interesting stories which had made Mycroft feel light and happy.

“Yes, I think so, Mycie. What would you like to know?”

“How did you feel after shooting Magnussen?”

“Oh.” Sherlock bit on his bottom lip. “You know, perhaps there are some questions to which you might not really want to hear the answer.”

Mycroft looked at him, very surprised. “Sherlock, nothing you could tell me would ever make me love you less. Please trust me.”

“I do! I… Okay… Well, to be perfectly honest, I didn’t feel anything. I was afraid of what was going to happen to me for doing that but besides that, I felt nothing. He got what he deserved.” His voice was cold as ice and Mycroft shuddered involuntarily.

“See, I knew that would shock you,” Sherlock said in a resigned tone.

“No, it didn’t shock me, it’s just that it's hard to bring the way you just said that together with how I know you now.”

“Well, you are getting what _you_ deserve, Mycroft. All my love and my desire to make you happy.”

“God, I love you, Sherlock.”

“You still do? As much as before?”

“Of course! Perhaps even more… If that was possible at all, which it isn’t.”

Sherlock smiled at him, his eyes full of love and relief. “I love you, too, Mycie. And I guess I’ve never said I’m sorry for the way I got you involved in that matter. That I drugged you and stole your laptop.”

“Apology accepted. You did what you considered was the best solution. Even though it was indeed a little unpleasant. I would really appreciate if you didn’t do that again.” In fact it had been a feeling of pure terror to wake up and find out what Sherlock had done, in what danger he had placed himself. And all of that for this bloody doctor and his damn wife…

“Promised. As long as _you_ promise to not send me to death row again.”

“Sherlock, I would have never let that happen. I had the plan to…”

“Oh, Mycie, look at them!” Sherlock interrupted him, watching and pointing at a spot behind Mycroft. He turned around and saw two big, black and brown shepherd dogs running in their direction, growling loudly and snapping at each other and coming closer with every second in full speed. Sherlock made a step back to avoid being run over, but what he couldn’t see was the huge dog coming from behind him.

“Sherlock, watch out!” Mycroft was able to say, then the dog crashed against Sherlock’s legs, and the detective fell over and landed on his back. And then all three dogs were all over him, a bundle of growling, pushing beasts.

Mycroft froze in shock for a moment and when he could finally move to hurry to help Sherlock, he heard a man’s voice shouting from a couple of metres away: “Oh, Billy, not again! Come off the poor man!”

And Mycroft realised that the _beasts_ were actually just licking every bit of Sherlock’s skin they could reach while their tails were wagging frenetically, and his brother was giggling and touching every piece of fur he could get at. A sharp whistle finally made the two shepherd dogs let go of him and run away, and the dog named Billy was being pulled back by a very tall and extremely thin young man with ruffled blond hair and huge glasses.

“Sit down, Billy! I’m so very sorry,” he said and reached down to help Sherlock up in the same moment as Mycroft did. They pulled him on his feet together. “Are you hurt?” Mycroft asked Sherlock while he was trying to free his shirt and trousers from grass and dirt.

“No, not at all. It’s a cute dog. They all are.”

“He may not look like it, but he’s still a puppy and sometimes he just does what he wants. He’s a French Mastiff with a lot of power. But he’s really just a sweet guy.” The blond patted at the dog’s huge head. “That’s what you are, right, such a good boy!” He fastened the dog leash and offered his hand to Sherlock. “My name is Oscar Renner. And you already met Billy.”

“I’m Sherlock Holmes, nice to meet you two. Even though it was a bit overwhelming…”

“So sorry again. Here’s my card, if there is a stain that cannot be washed out, let me know and I will of course pay for the dry cleaning, or new clothes if necessary. Oh, and you must be his boyfriend.” With this he reached for Mycroft’s hand.

Mycroft felt his cheeks blush and saw the same reaction on Sherlock’s face. “I’m his _brother_ , Mycroft Holmes,” he said stiffly while shaking Oscar’s hand.

“Oh, sorry again. Seems to be one of these days… But wait a minute, Sherlock Holmes? You are the detective!” He stared at Sherlock disbelievingly.

“The one and only,” Mycroft said with a thin smile and Sherlock winked at him.

“That’s me indeed. If you ever require the help of a consulting detective, here’s my card.”

“And if you require the assistance of a dog trainer, you might find him in the yellow pages,” Mycroft mumbled ungraciously, but Oscar laughed.

“I certainly deserved that. Listen, it was a huge pleasure to meet you but I have to dash. That’s why Billy ran away, he didn’t want to go home, but I have to work. It’s not as if we hadn’t played ball for two hours already...”

“So what’s your profession?” Mycroft asked, trying to be a little politer.

“Oh um, I’m an IT consultant.”

“And if we ever need help with our computers, we do have your card.”

“Yes, exactly! Goodbye for now, and thank you for your kind reaction. Have a lovely day. Come, Billy!”

They watched the strange couple disappear. Billy was more or less dragging his owner behind him.

“The dog’s even bigger than he is and probably twenty pounds heavier, isn’t it? And remember it’s still a _puppy_!”

“Mycroft!” Sherlock grinned at him. “You were more than a little impolite to him, weren’t you?”

“I don’t think so at all.”

“Of course not, you’d never be.” Sherlock paused and his face grew serious. “He thought we were boyfriends.”

“Yes, I noticed that.” Mycroft simply had no idea how he was supposed to be feeling about that. He wondered what had caused a stranger to get this impression. Had it been the way he had helped Sherlock up and cleaned him? The way he had asked him if he was okay? The look in his eyes while doing so? His body language? He didn’t know. But perhaps it was just more likely that two lovers would spend a Sunday afternoon in a park together instead of two brothers.

“He didn’t know us,” he finally said. “Someone who does would have never guessed it by what just happened.”

Sherlock just nodded and turned to go to the exit. “You didn’t say what I expected,” he said after a moment of silence.

“And what did you expect me to say?” Mycroft was feeling like walking over a minefield.

“That we’ll have to be more careful.”

“We haven’t done anything. Nobody will find out by just seeing us walking around together. Don’t you worry.”

“I don’t worry. I just thought you would.”

Mycroft looked at him. He wondered what he’d have to do to break this barrier between them. To make Sherlock believe that their love was what mattered most to him. Not his job. Not his reputation. _Sure, this is all unimportant… That’s why you don’t take his hand and run away with him…_

Mycroft stood and closed his eyes for a moment. He felt a desperate urge to stamp with his foot and scream and rip the rest of his poor hair out.

“You okay, Mycie?”

“Sure. Shall we go home now?”

“Yes.”

_I would **kill** to be able to just hold your hand now… to kiss you in front of all people… to tell our parents… to put our wedding ad in all the fucking newspapers and the entire **internet** …_

He looked over to Sherlock and their eyes met. If he had still doubted that Sherlock could read his mind, he’d be convinced now. Despite the sadness in his eyes, Sherlock smiled at him. _I love you_ , he mouthed silently. _I love you more_ , Mycroft mouthed back. Regardless of all his heartache and the knowledge that Sherlock was suffering even more, he suddenly just felt happy to be with the one man he loved on this beautiful day. “You will have to take a shower as soon as we get home. You must be covered in dog saliva.”

“That’s true. But they were all males so I don’t mind.”

“Sherlock!”

“What can I say, you know that I’m a pervert, just like you!”

Mycroft laughed out loud and just couldn’t resist tousling his curls. “Come home with me, my little, perverse slut.”

“Slut?! Oh, you will regret that!”

“Threatening me? What are you going to do to me then?”

“Lick you from head to toe and up again.”

“So you’ll be my dog? I can’t wait.”

“Do you have a collar for me?”

“I will order one as soon as we arrive home.”

“I want my name in big letters on it.”

“No, it will be _my_ name with the addition _property of_.”

“I would wear it.” Sherlock’s tone was completely earnest all at once. “Because that’s what I am.”

Mycroft reached out and pressed his hand for a moment. “And I’m yours.”

They looked at each other for a long moment. Then they hurried to get home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, this is the watersports-chapter. It contains talking about it and really doing it. It will be the only chapter with this content, except for mentioning it.

“To Baker Street, please.” Sherlock leaned back into the backseat of the cab and rubbed his face. The holiday was over. It was Monday morning, time to face reality. He had reluctantly kissed Mycroft goodbye and watched him go off to work almost two hours earlier. Then he had crawled back into the bed and breathed in Mycroft’s scent that he had left on the pillow. But he had not been able to get back to sleep. Too much was on his mind, not only the fear of losing Mycroft’s love again but also the wonderful memories of the day before. He was also thinking about their amazing time together now as well while the cab was bringing him to a place where he no longer wanted to be.

While the first three days they had spent together as a couple had been like a dream already, the last evening and night had burned themselves into his heart, soul and brain like nothing that had ever happened to him. Knowing they’d both have to deal with real life the next day, they had taken their time and had made love to each other more intensely, cherishing and tenderly and at the same time more naughtily and passionately than Sherlock could have ever imagined.

He had started with indeed licking Mycroft’s entire body from head to toe and everything in between and then he had entered his brother’s arse while holding him close from behind, constantly kissing his neck and shoulders and touching his chest, belly and cock with both hands. He would never forget Mycroft’s moans and sighs and whispered words of love. Moving in him very sparely had extended their lovemaking to more than half an hour, and when they had finally climaxed, he had felt like his soul was flowing over.

After talking for a while they had switched positions and Sherlock had watched his brother being on top of him and thrusting into him with powerful strokes until Sherlock had shot his load onto his own face. Mycroft had followed by coming over Sherlock’s face as well and then had licked it all up, which had Sherlock gotten aroused again at once. And then…

“Sir, we’ve arrived.”

“Oh, yes, thank you.” Sherlock paid the driver and got out of the cab in front of 221. He felt almost dizzy after having been woken up from reliving this unbelievable night, and he realised he was hard from thinking about it. But he was pretty sure that his erection would disappear very soon.

After finally crawling out of the bed he had checked his phone for the first time since Friday and had found out that John had texted him ten times in the meantime. He had not bothered reading his messages because he was sure that John would let him know in the very near future what he was about.

He entered the stairway and slowly walked up the steps. He was surprised that he didn’t hear a sound from the flat above. Was the reconstruction already finished? Would he have to move in so soon? He had thought this morning about the _amendments_ he would like to have made, but he had not come up with much more than an additional wall between the kitchen and the living room. Given the pace the company had displayed so far, that would probably only take them half a day…

“Sherlock, finally! I texted you that I can only wait here until eight-thirty!” John was standing in the door, looking at him with an angry expression.

Sherlock nodded even though he had of course not read that. Why had he not arrived half an hour later? But of course he knew that he couldn’t avoid John forever. “The traffic was horrible, sorry. So what’s the matter? You can’t wait for me to move in again? There is a huge queue of clients waiting that I just cannot see?”

“Move in? Ha! You’ll be surprised. As you’ve obviously not read a single one of the texts I sent you. Come in, see for yourself!”

Sherlock entered the flat and stood still. Around him was pure chaos. It looked as if as soon as he’d left the flat on Thursday, the craftsmen had done the same. Actually it looked as if they had thrown another _grenade_ instead of building it up. Relief flooded him and he desperately tried to look angry. “What’s happened?”

“I will tell you what’s happened, the company that was supposed to fix it just told Mrs Hudson that they had more urgent matters to take care of and just left! Can you imagine that?!”

_Oh Mrs Hudson, you saint…_

“And she is not willing to just engage another company and let them do it,” John went on. ”What kind of loyalty is that? They don’t fulfil their contract so why should she bother? You must talk to her!”

“Oh, I will. But in the end it’s her house and her decision.”

“But you’re paying the rent!”

“Not now, she didn’t want anything until I can move in again. _We_ can move in again.” Sherlock almost choked at the last sentence but John didn’t notice in his rage.

“So you won’t do anything about it? Guess you just enjoy living with your damn brother!”

Sherlock froze.

“I know he has a huge house, but here’s your home! Should be our home again!” John added and Sherlock relaxed.

“I’ve already said that I will talk to her. So I suppose we don’t have any clients waiting?”

“No. As _I_ don’t suppose you’ve made an appointment with Mr Miller?”

Sherlock had no idea who he was talking about and it obviously showed on his face.

“Mr Miller! The one I told you about! The one who worked for this company and… Why am I telling you this again, I thought you can remember everything! So you still haven’t checked your emails, what have you done the entire weekend at all?”

_I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you…_

“What’s so funny about all that?!”

“Nothing, John. I will take care of everything.”

John just snorted. “Yes, right. Listen, I have to go to my shift. Text me if there’s anything new, okay?” He didn’t look as if he was expecting that to happen.

“Of course,” Sherlock said with a cheerful smile.

John snorted again and left without a goodbye.

Sherlock went downstairs. After his knock he didn’t have to wait long until the door was being opened.

“Sherlock, so good to see you. Come in my dear!”

Sherlock did as he was told and surprised Mrs Hudson and himself equally by embracing her. “Thank you so much, Mrs Hudson.”

“What for? I should apologise for the chaos in your flat. But the other companies are much more expensive so I’ll have to stick to them I’m afraid.”

Sherlock looked at her, puzzled, then she winked and giggled. “I have practiced that for John.”

Sherlock laughed. “But it didn’t work, did it?”

“No, I’m afraid not. The poor darling was so upset. But you can’t really expect him to react differently as he doesn’t know…” She didn’t finish the sentence.

“No, he doesn’t. And he never will. Listen, Mrs Hudson…”

“Why don’t you sit down first. I have just made tea and I think I still have some of the biscuits that you liked so much last time.”

Sherlock took place on a kitchen chair and gratefully accepted the goodies. He had not had breakfast at all as Mycroft and therefore also he had gotten up so early that he just had not been able to eat anything. And it had probably not only been the early hour that had made his stomach close up. But he was feeling a lot better now.

“So tell me now, what did you want to say?”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “This… this is very difficult for me. But anyway, I have not told Mycroft that you know about us.” He froze all at once. What if he had understood it all wrong and she did _not_ know it? _Then she certainly knows it **now** …_

“You are afraid he would not be delighted that you gave your secret away by accident,” Mrs Hudson said with an understanding nod and Sherlock closed his eyes in relief.

“I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t be.” It was so much easier to speak now. “I know you will not tell anybody else but I would be very happy if you didn’t say anything to Mycroft either.”

“Of course I won’t, don’t you worry. When I see him the next time I will call him a reptile again and shush him out of the house.”

Sherlock chuckled. “That sounds like a plan. Except for sending him away.”

“But he isn’t, is he?”

“Isn’t what?”

“A reptile. This cold, heartless creature he pretends to be.”

Sherlock smiled. “Oh, he is. But not to me.” He thought of Mycroft’s sad smile at his departure this morning, the whispered _I love you_ and the tender kiss they had shared. “ _Not to me._ ” He was surprised by the strong wish to talk to her about Mycroft, about their relationship. There was nobody else he would ever be able to speak about it with. But of course she wouldn’t want to hear it.

“He makes you really happy, dear,” Mrs Hudson said with a smile.

“Yes, he is great. Wonderful. He…” Sherlock broke off. “I’m sorry, probably you don’t want to know all that.”

“Oh yes, if you wanted to share it with me, I’d be happy! Whatever you tell me, it will stay between us, forever.”

“That’s so amazing. I mean… not only is it a gay thing but… he’s my brother…”

“You know, Sherlock, I _am_ an old woman. But I was young, too. And nobody could have called me very conservative in my time. It is unusual, I agree. But even if I was someone to be shocked easily that would not shock me.”

Sherlock looked at her questioningly. “How come? I’m sure everybody else would pass out by the sheer thought of it.”

“We can agree I’m sure that I am not _everybody else_.” She seemed to be a little hurt and Sherlock hurried to nod. “I’ve always worried about you, Sherlock. Nobody could get really close to you. I thought John did, but I guess that changed a lot when Mary appeared on the scene.”

“It was much earlier. I did find him attractive when we met - he was brave and loyal and everything one could wish for in a friend. But I realised that’s all he was, a friend. Which is already a lot.” Sherlock thought that he should possibly remember these words when he’d see John the next time. He should at least try to get back to their friendship as it had been in the beginning. But of course there was this huge secret that he couldn’t share with him which would not make that any easier.

“I was afraid you would stay alone forever, or even get together with that nasty woman who sent you those _texts_.”

“There was never any danger there,” Sherlock assured her.

“And who else could it be? Who is smart enough, understanding enough, good enough for you? I should have come to the conclusion so much earlier than it could only be your brother.”

“That’s a conclusion I suppose nobody would have drawn. Except us, in the end. But it took us so long.” _And we wasted so much time._

“And how did it happen? How did everything change?”

And Sherlock told her. The words just streamed out of his mouth. Of course he left out the _passionate sex parts_ even though he was almost positive she wouldn’t have minded at all to hear about that, too. But he felt that would be an even bigger betrayal to Mycroft. He did share with her his fears about what might get in their way.

“My dear, to me this all seems as if you really love each other very much. There will be tough times I’m afraid, but as you are so determined to make things work, you will succeed. You can always come to me or call me if you need any advice or if you feel sad and cannot talk to him about it. Even though, if I'm allowed to give you some advice already, you should always talk to him about how you feel first. From all you’ve told me I think that he will understand it. But you need to have patience with him. As you say, he is not more experienced with being attached to someone than you are, and he’s always been so stuck to his work that he won’t be able to change completely so fast. But please try to not overreact if he disappoints you. And in all probability this will happen. Lovers always disappoint each other because we expect our significant other to be perfect and to even know how we feel without telling them, and to make us always feel great. But that is not the reality. You will suffer and you will cry. But then you’ll have to talk to him and then he will make you smile again, make you happy again and make love to you.” She winked and Sherlock smiled gratefully.

“Thank you so much, I’m so happy I‘ve told you. Even though I feel horrible to have to hide it from him.”

“You should possibly reconsider that. Perhaps he will react completely differently than you are afraid he will. But if do you tell him, let me know so I’m not mean to him when I see him.”

Sherlock smiled again. “I surely will. And thank you so much for listening and for your wise words. I will definitely accept your offer to come to you when it gets hard.”

“Do that, Sherlock. I’m always there for you, no matter what.”

“I’m more grateful for that than I could ever say. But there’s something else I’d like to ask you for: would it be possible that John and I see our clients in one room of your flat until ours is rebuilt? I know that’s demanding very much given that I don’t want it to be rebuilt as long as possible.”

“Of course, no problem at all! You can take the dining room, I never use it anyway. It’s furnished and you can just start there anytime. I will give you a key to my flat before you leave. But what do you think, for how long will John accept my excuses about the delayed reconstruction?”

“We’ll have to see for that. I just hope he won’t contact the company and shout at them.”

“Oh, don’t you worry about that. I’ve told the owner that I have personal reasons for it and that he should tell John exactly what I’ve explained to him. I’ve known this man for a long time and he will do that.”

“You are such a smart lady, Mrs Hudson.”

“Thank you, dear, I hope that doesn’t surprise you too much.” She winked at him. “But for all these favours you must do something for me.”

“Whatever you want, Mrs Hudson.” Sherlock was absolutely serious about that, especially because he was sure she wouldn’t ask for sexual favours...

“Don’t call me Mrs Hudson anymore. After all the amazing secrets you’ve shared with me it’s time to refrain from any formalities. I’m Martha.”

Sherlock smiled. “Martha. That’s a nice name.”

“Thank you, dear. And Sherlock, don’t worry. When you have to move in again in the end, we’ll find a way together that Mycroft can see you here or that you can stay with him overnight as I suppose that’s why you want to postpone moving, I assume it’s not because you really want the flat being rebuilt differently.”

“You’re absolutely right. But John will be there, too, even though I wish he wouldn’t, and he will notice when I’m absent overnight. Let alone if Mycroft stays over...”

“Well, I’m sure we can work something out. It’s so nice to be your accomplice in concealing this wonderful, extraordinary love affair.”

“Oh, Mrs Hudson, sorry, Martha, what have I done to deserve someone as great as you are?”

“Oh, Sherlock.” She giggled and Sherlock just felt happy.

Before he could ask her if she already had any suggestions about how to avoid John’s attention, his phone chirped with a message, and he ripped it out of his coat and sent an excusing smile to his landlady who just smiled back and got up to get some more biscuits.

He had agreed with his brother that Mycroft would contact him as soon as he was out of the long meeting that he just had known was waiting for him after four full days of absence from work. Sherlock was pretty sure Mycroft had asked him to not text him first because he had known he wouldn’t be able to answer right away and had not wanted to let him wait for hours on the first day. Which of course only meant he had been waiting for Mycroft’s starting-text eagerly.

_Finally they let me out. And there wasn’t even anything important to discuss. I think they just like to hear themselves talk… How are you? Is anything interesting happening out there? Miss you like crazy. MH_

_I’m sure your ears are bleeding now from their talking. Hope you will have some time to relax now. Good news from here: the works at the flat are interrupted so it looks I can stay a little longer at your house. That is, if you can still bear having me around? Miss you too. SH_

_Bear having you around? You must be kidding. That calls for the second bottle of champagne tonight.  But why aren’t they working on the flat anymore? Relaxing would be nice but it’s improbable. I will be home around six o’clock I suppose. Can’t wait to make love to you then. MH_

Mrs Hudson came back to the table and sat down. Without even thinking Sherlock handed her his phone with Mycroft’s last text.

“You’re sure?”

He just nodded. He knew he shouldn’t let her read it but somehow he felt he had to prove to her that Mycroft was really good for him.

She smiled fondly when she read the text. “Oh, that’s lovely. Who knew he had that in him.” She gave the phone back to him. “But I think you should really tell him. About the flat and me I mean. I’m sure lying to him doesn’t feel good.”

“It doesn’t at all. If I was only sure he won’t kill me…” _Or worse, **leave** me…_

“Oh Sherlock, he loves you. He will understand.”

Sherlock was not that sure about the second part. But he knew she was right, he just couldn’t go on lying to him.

_I will tell you why they stopped working on the flat when we meet. And I’ve always wanted to drink champagne out of your navel, perhaps we can try that? I will prepare dinner for us then. I love you. SH_

_You better put a plastic sheet on the bed then as I’m sure you won’t want to sleep on sticky, wet linen. But that sounds exciting. So you’re going to cook for us? That’s very nice. I love you, too. MH_

_We can do it in the shower with you letting it run over your body and me drinking it from your cock instead. I could even imagine drinking it OUT Of your cock if you know what I mean. SH_

Sherlock couldn’t believe he was texting Mycroft about _watersports_ while his old landlady was sitting opposite of him, smiling patiently, but this idea had just crashed into his head. Or better, his groin… He was grateful this part of his body was hidden from her sight by the kitchen table. He just hoped she wouldn’t want to read any more of their texts…

_Have you watched porn again??? So that means you want me to drink the champagne and then… There’s no other way of putting it, right? Pee it… in your mouth? Sherlock, Sherlock, I had no idea that you are THAT naughty. MH_

Sherlock was fully aware that he should stop this increasingly hot and dirty conversation right now and concentrate on talking to Mrs Hudson, or leave now and get into the discussion with his lover without somebody watching him, but he just didn’t want it to be interrupted, and standing on the street with a full hard-on, very visible in his tight trousers, would not be any better. It was too warm to close his coat…

“I’m sorry, Martha, I know I’m being impolite but…”

“Oh, don’t you worry. I absolutely understand that. But I’ll leave you to it, I need to call someone.” With this obvious lie she left and Sherlock was very grateful once more for her tact and her wisdom. But now it was time to answer...

_I did say that I was a pervert. And you told me that you’re as much my property as I’m yours. That means your body fluids are also mine. SH_

_I wasn’t aware of that. It’s hard to imagine though that you’d rather drink THAT instead of the champagne itself. And do you have any idea what this picture is doing to me? I hope nobody will come in here now. MH_

_Why, are you sitting at your desk with your trousers open and your cock out? And would you do it? Will you do it tonight? SH_

_My cock is still where it belongs but it’s hard like a rock and I just have to touch it. If you go on like that, I will be sitting here with wet and sticky trousers very soon. Do you really want us to do that? Or are you just kidding again? MH_

_I would never joke about that, Mycie. I’d never turn you on and then say I was kidding. I will write it clear and loud: I want you to drink some champagne and then I will drink your piss. SH_

_My God… How am I supposed to concentrate on work now? I think I’ll need to be off to my bathroom here. MH_

_Don’t do that. Save it for tonight. Because after your piss I want to drink your cum. SH_

All at once he wondered if this was going to happen before or after he'd told Mycroft about his indiscretions. And if it was going to happen at all if he told him first…

_Sherlock! Shit, someone’s knocking at the door. Later, MH_

Sherlock had a pretty bad conscience. He hoped Mycroft would not have to get up from his chair to greet whoever had just entered his office. The thought of having to tell Mycroft that he had not been honest with him since Thursday had made his own erection go away. So he got up to say goodbye to Mrs Hudson who gave him the flat-key and wished him luck for his conversation with Mycroft.

He needed to have something to do until the afternoon. Which meant that he finally called the client John was nagging about all the time even though his problems didn’t interest him in the least. The man was very happy to hear from him and insisted on coming over at once so he returned to his new office, namely Mrs Hudson’s dining room, and waited for the guy. He didn’t bother texting John as he wouldn’t be able to leave work anyway.

“Alright, Mr Miller, why don’t you explain what the problem is?” he encouraged the nervous looking man when they had sat down.

“Well, you know, I was in the army, and when I came home, I… wasn’t feeling too well,” Mr Miller started. He was a strongly-built man with very short hair and a face only a mother could love. In opposite to his robust looks, his voice was very quiet and he indeed sounded as if he was still not feeling very well. “I opened this little antiquarian bookshop and specialised in books about the several wars in history.”

Sherlock forced himself not to yawn. “So?” he managed to say. “Your email said something about you being employed by someone?”

“Yes, there is this _League of War Veterans Helping Each Other_.

Sherlock had never heard of such a thing. Perhaps John _could_ have been a help in this case… “And…?” He was getting increasingly impatient and Mr Miller finally seemed to notice.

“A member of this league came to my store and told me about the concept, namely that war veterans should try to help each other to get back on their feet after military service. I was in Afghanistan by the way. To cut it short he offered me a job in an office in the city. My clerk could take care of my bookshop during these hours so I accepted it. I was paid well to do research for a freelance journalist on a computer there.”

Sherlock grimaced. That sounded completely stupid.

“I worked there for about two weeks and was paid each day. But last week I arrived there and the room was empty, there was no computer anymore. And then I found out this league doesn’t exist at all!”

“But they did pay you for your efforts?”

“Yes, but I feel so silly now!”

 _Do tell_. “You said you have a clerk? Tell me more about him. And where exactly is your bookshop?”

*****

About fifteen minutes later Sherlock texted DI Lestrade.

_Was there a robbery last week or at the weekend in the Maitland Street branch of the Bank of England that was not reported? SH_

_I’m fine, thanks, and you? No, I have just checked. Even though I’m in the murder squad as you know. Greg Lestrade_

_Then get some men over there and wait for one to happen. They will come through a tunnel from the bookstore next to it. SH_

Lestrade called him one minute later. “Sherlock, what is this all about?”

Sherlock sighed. “Listen, I know that’s not your responsibility but you are the only policeman I’m talking to as _you_ know very well. A guy named Arthur Stone works as a salesman in said bookstore. He has a criminal record as a thief, and he lured his boss out of it to prepare the bank robbery. They must come through a tunnel, there’s no other way. The owner has nothing to do with it and I told him to stay away until you guys have taken care of everything.”

“Alright, I will immediately make sure my colleagues will do.”

“Good.”

Sherlock ended the call. Case closed. And it was not even ten o’clock. Perhaps he should just go home and take a nap and then mentally prepare for his conversation with Mycroft in the evening.

“Hello? I’m sorry, are you Sherlock Holmes?” he heard a woman whisper. She was about thirty years old, tiny and had carrot-red hair. “I have a problem. I think my neighbour is a murderer and the policemen don’t believe me.”

“Come in, Miss. Let’s see what I can do.” It looked as if the game was on again. But he didn’t really care…

*****

Mycroft sighed deeply when he put his key in the door. Finally this day was over… Had his job always been so tiring? Or was he just not used to it anymore after four free days? Or… He shook off these thoughts. They didn’t matter now. He was at home. And Sherlock was, too. He could hear him playing on his violin in the living room, and a delicious smell of warm food lingered in the air. It was just so great to be home.

He put his briefcase and his umbrella away, hung up his jacket and stood for a moment to listen to the music. It was a melancholic piece but very beautiful. He decided to freshen up first and went to the bathroom. After using the toilet he quickly freshened up and used his electric shaver. After applying some deodorant and aftershave, he left and entered the living room. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair, playing on the instrument with closed eyes. Mycroft didn’t want to disturb him and quietly took a seat on the sofa and watched and listened. He could see the emotions on Sherlock’s handsome face and it touched his heart. His brother was looking sad and yet relaxed from playing. And then he opened his eyes and almost dropped the violin.

“Oh Mycie, I didn’t hear you. Or see you.” He carefully put the instrument on the table and got up.

Mycroft did the same and they met for a very tender kiss. Pressing his lover against his body, he buried his face in his throat and let his hands wander over his back. It was so great to hold Sherlock like that. But something was different, missing… It took him just a moment to figure out what it was. Sherlock did not have an erection…

He stepped back a little and held Sherlock by his shoulders. “Is everything alright with you?”

“Yes, well, I… Let’s eat first, okay?” Sherlock avoided looking into his eyes.

“Okay. It smells wonderful. What have you prepared?”

“Just some fish and rice. Would you like to have a drink?”

 _Do I need one?_ “Thank you, honey, but I will wait for the champagne.” He hoped that this would cheer Sherlock up but he just sent him a small smile, swallowed and looked away. Perhaps that was the reason that he was behaving so strangely; he regretted his offer and didn’t know how to tell Mycroft. He was relieved even though he would have really liked to do what they had texted about before. But perhaps he could convince Sherlock to just do it the other way around…

“Do you want to eat here? Or in the kitchen? I already set up everything but I can move it.”

“Sherlock, the kitchen is completely fine.”

They sat down and ate and Mycroft complimented him for the fine meal. Not that he was surprised that Sherlock had learned to cook so quickly. Sherlock thanked him but didn’t seem to want to go on with the conversation.

“Did you have an interesting case today?” he finally broke the silence.

“Well, interesting… I had a couple actually. I was pretty busy.”

“That’s good! And where did you go with them?”

“Oh, Mrs Hudson gave me the key to her flat and I can use her dining room as long as… my flat is not finished.”

“Oh yes, speaking of that. You told me that there is a delay in the rebuild? What happened?” Sherlock just put his fork aside. To his unpleasant surprise, Mycroft could see tears in his eyes. “Sherlock, please tell me what’s wrong!” He urged him to stand up and embraced him. “Tell me, baby.”

Sherlock pressed his face on Mycroft’s. “You said, in the park, that nothing I could tell you would make you love me less.”

“Yes, and I absolutely meant that.”

Sherlock pulled back and took a deep breath. “The company who have been hired to rebuild the flat have stopped working on it.”

“And?” What was so terrible about that?

“They did because Mrs Hudson told them to stay away.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Well, that was strange. But what does that have to do with you?”

“I… I told her about us. On Thursday… I didn’t mean to do it, it just happened.”

Mycroft felt as if he had received a punch in his gut. “What? What do you mean, you told her about us?” He felt his throat get dry. And then Sherlock’s words hit him even more. “On _Thursday_? And you are telling me that _now_?” He stepped back and let himself fall on his chair.

“I’m so sorry, Mycie. I was so afraid to tell you that, I thought if I did you would not want to go on and I didn’t want to lose you.” Mycroft could see tears running down his cheeks but he was too shocked to react to that.

Slowly he got his senses back. “How could that happen?” He listened to Sherlock’s stammered explanation silently. “And you are saying now that she told the company to interrupt the reconstruction? Meaning she…”

“She’s on our side, Mycie. She won’t do anything to harm us. She wants to help me stay here as long as possible and even after that she will help us to be together, in Baker Street or here, as much as possible.”

“But… doesn’t she have a problem with us being a couple?” Mycroft still couldn’t believe it.

“Not at all. She said she was worried about me and that you are the only one who was good enough for me.”

Mycroft needed a moment to assimilate that. “Alright. That sounds good. But Sherlock, why the hell did you not tell me about it at once? You can’t keep something like that from me!”

“I’m so sorry, I will never do that again, I swear. And I’m telling you now.”

“What made you change your mind?”

“Mrs Hudson said I should think about that, she was sure you would understand me.”

“Well, this woman has certainly more to offer than I thought.” He got up and took Sherlock in his arms again. “You must trust me, Sherlock, otherwise this is not going to work. And I have to be able to trust you, too.”

Sherlock pressed  his waist until he could hardly breathe anymore. “I know.” He sobbed at Mycroft’s ear, and he kissed his wet cheek.

“Don’t cry, Sherlock. Everything will be fine.”

“You don’t hate me for that?”

“Hate you? I will never hate you, honey. And in a way I can understand why you didn’t come to me with that. I guess I don’t have to tell you that there should not be any more _accidents_ like that.”

“No, I promise there won’t be any. Thank you, Mycie. I was so stupid to not trust you to react like you just did.” He cleaned his face with a tissue and was looking a lot happier.

“Would you mind if I spoke to Mrs Hudson myself tomorrow? I feel I should.”

“Of course you can do that. Will you drop by after work?”

“Yes, that might be the best. Let her know that I’m coming, please.”

“I will. I love you so much, Mycie.”

Mycroft smiled and touched his face. “I love you more than anything in the world, my cute, little chatterbox.”

Sherlock beamed at him. “That calls for champagne!” He collected the bottle and Mycroft went to get the glasses. They sat down on the sofa in the living room. Sherlock had organised a candle and they clinked their glasses in the dimmed light and drank.

“So who was it that had knocked on the door?” Sherlock asked.

“Oh, just the Prime Minister.”

“Oh my God… I’m sorry I put you in such a situation.”

“Don’t worry. As soon as he’d entered the room, my erection was gone. He does that to people.”

They both laughed and Mycroft felt himself relaxing. The shock of what Sherlock had just told him had shaken him up, and he knew he would have to think it through later. For the moment he was just happy that Sherlock had chosen the right person for his indiscretion. He had always thought his brother’s landlady hated him and now he’d just found out that she was a confidante they could obviously count on. He wasn’t really looking forward to a conversation with her about it nevertheless, but first, he wanted to see for himself that they could trust her, and second, he owed that to her for the support she had given Sherlock.

It was a very strange feeling that now somebody knew their secret, and had actually known it before they had even made love to each other for the first time. He was still shocked that Sherlock had spent this long weekend with him without bothering to mention it. He was less worried about what that could tell him about Sherlock, but what it meant for his own character if his brother had thought he would dump him right away because of his mistake and had therefore not dared tell him.

“You’re still angry with me,” Sherlock interrupted his thinking process in a sad voice.

He realised that he had stayed silent for too long. “I’m not angry at all. It just makes me a little sad. I want to be the one you’re running to when something happens, no matter what, not someone you are afraid of telling.”

Sherlock put his glass on the table and sneaked onto his lap, wrapping his arms around his neck. “I’m sorry, Mycie. That’s exactly what you are for me. But it was all so new then, nothing had really happened between us, and I was so worried that if I told you, nothing would ever happen. And when we got closer and closer it got just harder and harder to tell you.”

Mycroft nodded and pulled him close. It made sense in a weird, Sherlockian way. “It’s fine now.” At least he very much hoped it was. “We’ll speak with her tomorrow. And if she wants to help us, it’s even better.”

“Just be nice to her.”

“I’d better be.”

“I didn’t mean it like that, she would never blackmail us or whatever. She’s great.”

“It looks like indeed. So, do you think we can change the subject now?”

“Yes.” Sherlock looked very relieved. “What do you want to do now? Watch telly? Relax? Do some sports?”

Mycroft grinned. “In fact I was thinking about going to the gym again. Have you seen my workout shorts?”

Sherlock pouted and it looked so cute. “I didn’t mean that kind of sports.”

“I know, brother mine. See what you are doing to me.” He pulled the fabric of his trousers flat over the big bulge that had appeared in an instant.

“I’m not sure if it’s going to work.”

“What do you mean?” Mycroft held his breath.

“I mean, can you pee if you are hard? I know I can’t when I’m really erect.”

“It might be indeed a little difficult. So what are we going to do about this dilemma?”

“Well, I could make this bulge go away.”

“Right, why don’t you call John and tell him what we’re about?”

“Mycroft!”

“I’m sorry, that was really mean.”

“You’re forgiven. I guess it might take some time until you can have faith in me again that I’m able to keep my mouth shut.”

“We could make sure it’s occupied.”

“Oh, that could work. For both matters.”

“Fine. Well, what are you waiting for?”

Sherlock didn't bother taking Mycroft's trousers off. He just opened the zipper and took his cock out. Mycroft shuddered when he saw Sherlock looking at it with hunger and desire, and he moaned when Sherlock let his hand slide up and down on it. He drank another glass of champagne while he was watching Sherlock go at it. He started to feel a little dizzy, but in a nice way. Feeling his cock getting sucked hard into that beautiful mouth, feeling the wetness and the heat and the talented tongue tangling around the head was just amazing, he knew he’d never get tired of Sherlock doing that for him. Or he for Sherlock. It didn’t take long until his semen filled Sherlock’s mouth. He realised that Sherlock had not touched himself while taking care of him. Obviously he was saving it up for later…

“Can we go to the shower now? Or are you too drunk to get up?” Sherlock teased him while he was standing up. He closed the half-emptied bottle with one hand with a smooth movement and took it.

“Drunk, you must be kidding. Not after two glasses of champagne.” But he had to admit to himself that he was a little weak on his feet. He managed to not let it show while they walked to the bathroom where both of them undressed quickly.

When they had entered the shower, Sherlock put the bottle in one corner and got down on his knees in front of him. That view made the dizzy feeling go away in a second. It was so exciting and so disturbing…

“Are you sure you want to do this, Sherlock?” he asked earnestly. “You know this is really hardcore. I’ve never done something like this before. I have to say I did fantasise about it, but you don’t have to do it, you don’t have to prove anything to me. If you don’t want it to happen, we can stop now or we can switch places.”

“I want it, Mycie. I’ve never thought about that in my life but the image of you doing that came to me while we were texting about the champagne and it made me so hot. We can switch places later if you want. But now it’s my turn to get it.”

“Alright. But if you don’t like it, just tell me and I’ll stop at once.”

“Always so concerned, Mycie. If it makes you feel better, I promise to do so, but it’s not going to happen. Come on, give it to me!”

“Alright then.” He took a deep breath. And to his surprise he felt his cock hardening in his hand again and knew he had to start before getting a full hard-on. So without thinking furthermore he let it flow. The stream hit Sherlock’s chest first, then his flat belly and his rock hard cock. And then Mycroft directed it higher, it covered his throat, and finally it found his open mouth. Mycroft was constantly watching Sherlock’s expression, ready to stop at the tiniest sign of discomfort on his face, but it showed nothing else than trust and excitement.

And he was experiencing a conglomerate of feelings: he felt power and arousal, shame for having his lover humiliated in such a pose, for splattering him with his urine and abusing him in such a _dirty_ way, but as it was so clear that Sherlock enjoyed what was happening, it was most of all the strong love for him and the gratitude that Sherlock was so open and so willing to let him do that to him. Once there was nothing left, Sherlock was all over him and started sucking him again. But Mycroft pulled him on his feet, feeling the need to kiss him now. Sherlock moaned into his mouth when his full erection was rubbing against Mycroft's half-hard dick. Mycroft held him with his left arm while his right hand took his own hardening dick, fisting it roughly for a moment, and then he grabbed for Sherlock's member, too, grinding them against each other, massaging them with his thankfully big hand. It took mere seconds until Sherlock cried out his name and his hot ejaculate was flowing over Mycroft's hand, making it easier to masturbate his now throbbing dick. Sherlock freed himself out of his grip and dropped on his knees again, his eyes begging for Mycroft to come. It didn’t take long until he felt his climax building up and then Sherlock's mouth was on him again and with a cry he released himself into it once more. He closed his eyes in pleasure while Sherlock was eagerly sucking the last drop out of him. And then Sherlock was up again, turned on the shower, and captured his mouth in a scorching kiss that lasted several minutes.

Finally Sherlock turned off the spray and opened the bottle again. He poured down some champagne and let some of it flow in Mycroft’s mouth when they kissed.

“That was the most exciting experience of my life,” Sherlock mumbled in his ear. “And you taste so good.”

“Oh Sherlock, what are you doing to me?” Mycroft’s lips found his brother’s and they kissed again. “Thank you, thank you so much for letting that happen. And I want you to do it the same thing to me.”

“Well,” Sherlock put the bottle to his lips and emptied it, “that can be arranged at once.”

And Mycroft got on his knees, held onto his lover’s muscular thighs and enjoyed this different sort of shower, hot fluid all over his body, and then drinking the part that was aimed at his mouth. Being the one on the receiving end made him realise that it was not at all humiliating and abusive, and that he shouldn’t be ashamed of treating his brother like that. He was just feeling great about being so close to him and experiencing such a grade of intimacy with him. And when Sherlock pulled him up and they kissed like maniacs under again hot water, he thought that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for him. Nothing.

*****

Mycroft had a very busy Tuesday. He hurried from one meeting to the other, answered phone calls, read and wrote emails and didn’t have a minute to himself. Between appointments he did manage to text Sherlock but their conversation stayed tame and tender and short, basically an _I miss you_ here and an _I love you_ there. Sherlock seemed to know that he was really not available for long exchanges or text-sex, even though he made sure to reply as soon as possible, and it amazed him to realise how sensible his brother was. He forced himself to stay concentrated on whatever he had to do because he knew that he wouldn’t be able to do anything productive if he allowed himself to think about the evening before or Sherlock in general.

At least they had gotten to bed early as they both had been exhausted from their lovemaking. Mycroft had not been able to sleep at once though as the exciting images had flickered through his mind again and again. He had been happy to just hold Sherlock in his arms and watch him sleeping for almost an hour before he could find rest.

He was able to put all of this aside until in the afternoon when had a meeting with the private secretary of the Queen, the Prime Minister, Lady Smallwood, Sir Edwin, a high official from New Scotland Yard, and a few others. While the policeman explained what had happened during the Princess-of-York-incident (the expression alone caused Mycroft to roll his eyes internally), he all at once wondered what all these VIPs, who looked at him with respect and who in some cases feared him, would think if they knew how he had been hovering in front of his own brother and letting him pee in his mouth to his total delight. He couldn’t refrain from smiling and was too slow in putting back on his usual mask of indifference.

“Mr Holmes, do you really think this is a funny story?” the Queen’s secretary asked him with a voice full of indignation. “Her Highness has been _terrified_! Of course, there was no real danger for her safety this time, but the next time it could be terrorists instead of a gang!”

“I believe it’s rather been a few harmless teenagers with a little too much time,” Mycroft said with forced indulgence. “I would not take to calling them a _gang_.”

“What Mr Holmes actually meant is that we are indeed concerned about the security gaps that made it possible for these people to get access to her phone number and that there will be measures taken that this will not happen again,” Lady Smallwood explained and shot a short, unamused look at him.

Did he really mean that?

“Mr Holmes, have you just rolled your eyes?” the PM blurted and Mycroft cursed internally. At least he hoped it had been internally as the eye-rolling obviously had not been…

“Not at all, sir,” he denied with all the nonchalance he was capable of. “I have worked out a concept that will guarantee that nobody will threaten Her Royal Highness again. Miss Hunter will present it now.”

Anthea, who was sitting next to him, got up to go to the empty flipchart to explain the concept. She had also prepared a PowerPoint presentation but there had been a problem with the laptop. So it had to be done the old-fashioned way because the time of all these important people was limited and they couldn’t wait until another laptop had been put in place.

Mycroft could lean back for a moment and thought he should rather take better care of his reactions in future. That had never been a problem before but somehow he didn’t have any patience with idiocy anymore, not even from the highest in the land. Perhaps because it kept him from doing much more pleasant things… In this moment his phone quietly vibrated in his jacket. As everybody was staring at the flipchart that Anthea was flipping quickly, he dared take it out and have a look at the display.

_I’m surrounded by idiots! Some people seem to need a consulting detective to find their own arse. I hope you’re having a more delightful day? SH_

Mycroft needed all his self-control to not laugh out loud. While everybody’s attention was still distracted from him, he texted back.

_Unfortunately, idiots seem to be everywhere today, brother mine. I’ll come by soon, so stay strong and don’t beat anybody if possible. Is Mrs Hudson aware? MH_

_She is. And looking forward to it. Really. So am I. SH_

_I’ll bring some cake. I should arrive at five. I will have to take some work home then but I should be through with that soon enough to spend some quality time with you. MH_

_Every minute we spend together is quality time, Mycie. Oh, by the way, I destroyed all your toilets. You don’t need them anymore. SH_

That was too much. Mycroft burst out laughing and immediately blushed as all heads turned to him. “Well,” he said, desperately trying to control his voice, “I think we all agree the Princess is going to be safe in future, and I hope you’re all as happy about that as I am.”

*****

Mycroft watched the streets while the driver was taking him to Baker Street. He had decided to escape from the office as soon as possible after that memorable meeting. Lady Smallwood had asked him if everything was alright with him when the others had left. He had just asked her what she was talking about and had told her he was in a hurry. But of course he knew his behaviour had been completely out of character for him and that he was in danger of his emotions taking over, not only causing him to appear to be a lot less professional than before but to destroy his _Iceman_ image for good.

And he didn’t care. He knew he would have to make sure that his work wouldn’t suffer from the extraordinary change his life path had taken, but the love he felt for Sherlock and the affection he received from him made him so grateful and happy, and if that meant that he’d not be able to control his other emotions as well as before, then so it had to be. He would continue texting with Sherlock as often as he could because it just made him feel the connection between them even though they had to spend the days apart. This would be even more important as soon as Sherlock had to return to 221B.

They had reached their destination and Mycroft got out of the car, collecting the cake he had bought on the way. “I shall stay here for about an hour,” he told his driver.

“Very well, sir. I’ll look for a parking space and wait downstairs.”

Mycroft thanked him and went to the door. He had a key for the front door and his brother’s flat. They had never been given to him but that had not been a problem. He let himself in and went upstairs first to have a look at the state of 221B.

Sherlock had not exaggerated. The flat looked as if more than one bomb had detonated in it. It was indeed not likely that Sherlock would be able to move in so soon which made Mycroft feel very grateful. He closed the door and went downstairs to 221A. After knocking he didn’t have to wait long until Mrs Hudson opened the door.

“Oh, Mr Holmes, come in, please,” she welcomed him with a genuine smile that surprised him. “Sherlock and John are in their office with a client but I hope they’ll be finished soon.”

He thanked her and stepped into the dark floor. “I’ve brought some cake for tea, Mrs Hudson.” He handed it over to her and slipped out of his jacket to hang it up.

“Oh, how nice. It looks delicious! Please come into the living room.”

Mycroft followed her through the small flat. One door was closed and he heard quiet voices through the door, the deep one without a doubt belonging to Sherlock. He suppressed the urge to enter the room. There was no point in interrupting a session with John and a client. But he hoped Sherlock would join him and his landlady soon. Preferably without the doctor…

Mycroft took place on the sofa. Despite the warm welcome, he was feeling a little tense and uncomfortable. Actually very much so. Imagining that this nice, old lady who had always disliked him knew such intimate and - in every decent person’s eyes -  immoral things about him was disconcerting. He had taken the time to freshen up and shave in his private bathroom at the office before he had left but he was starting to feel a little sweaty again. He was just not used to being that nervous.

“Would you like to have a cup of tea or do you prefer to wait for Sherlock?”

“I’d like to have some if it’s not too much trouble.”

“Not at all, Mr Holmes.” She provided him with the tea and sat down opposite of him.

Mycroft had noticed that she had closed the door so nobody would be able to hear anything of their conversation. He decided to just be right-out honest with her. “I don’t know how to start, Mrs Hudson. I only learned yesterday evening that you are aware of the situation between Sherlock and myself. And if it hadn’t been for you, I’d probably still have no idea about it.”

“The poor baby. He was so scared that you would be angry at him because of his little slip up.”

Mycroft sipped at his tea. It was strong and good. “Well, I’m not. But I also don’t know how to deal with it. It was never to be that anyone would know about it.”

“Of course it wasn’t, dear. But he’s so in love with you that he can’t think clearly anymore. And don’t you worry, I won’t tell anybody and I’ll support you as much as I can.”

“I just wonder why you’re so understanding. You even broke off the restoration of the flat. I think that’s great, don’t get me wrong, I’m very grateful for it as I’d prefer that Sherlock would stay in my house forever. Which is not possible of course. But why would you do that for him? For us? It’s not like you’ve ever been that fond of me…”

“But you know how much I love Sherlock. He’s like the son I never was blessed with. And it’s so obvious, so clear, that he loves you very much, and he’s so happy to be together with you. Despite all his worries that you would dump him for his mistake or your work.”

“I will never dump him for anything!”

“See, that’s the reaction I’ve expected. It shows how much you love him. I have to say I’d never thought that you were capable of such strong feelings. But now I know that you are and that you’d do anything to make Sherlock happy. Who could dare destroy this? Who am I and who is anybody to decide that your love is wrong because you have the same parents? It’s nobody’s business, you are both adults, and let’s face it, it is not that either of you could give birth to an ill child. You know, having said this, if I had the impression that you’d forced Sherlock into this relationship and that you had selfish reasons and he’d be suffering from it, I would do something about it to protect him from you. But even a complete fool could see that you are made for each other and that you care deeply about him and so does he about you. And I didn’t even have to see you together to be absolutely sure about that. Even though I have to admit that I can’t wait for Sherlock to come in so I do see you with each other.”

Mycroft looked at her, speechless. “I don’t know what to say, Mrs Hudson. Thank you, thank you so much.” He struggled with his emotions, and she got up, sat down next to him and took his hand.

“My dear, there’s no need to be embarrassed.”

“I’m not, I... I just hope I can keep making him happy. I will try my best but…”

“Oh dear, you got me all wrong if you think I’ve meant to threaten you! I have told Sherlock already, there is no love without problems and pain, the important thing is that you keep talking to each other and try to solve the problems that will inevitably come, especially given the complications of your special relationship and your very responsible profession. It will not be easy and as he is such a sensitive man, there will be times when he’s sad about something you had to do, but I know you will never make him unhappy by abusing him in any way.”

“Well, last night I thought I was doing that,” came out of his mouth before he was able to think about it.

She looked at him, a little concerned.

“But then, I mean, he wasn’t unhappy, and he did the same to me, and I loved it, and … Oh God, I’m sorry, I know you were not talking about that…” He felt his cheeks blush as if someone had set them on fire.

She laughed heartily. “Oh cutie, that is not an abuse. Whatever exactly you were referring to - and I have to admit I would love to know what it was, because I may be old, but I’m not dead - it was something he wanted you to do, right?”

“Oh yes, it was.” There was no way he could tell her about that…

“See. It’s wonderful that he’s finally found the right man to help him explore his needs and experience all these amazing things. But I know I’m embarrassing you even more, darling. But there’s one thing I want to say to you and I told Sherlock yesterday already: if you someday need any advice, if things become really difficult and you need someone to talk to about them, you can always speak with me. I’m not claiming to have an answer to everything, but I’ve experienced a lot myself, and I will do what I can to help you, because I want to see Sherlock happy, and I want to see you happy as well. You’ve been there for your brother all the time, and no matter what I called you before, I know you are a very decent man who does so much for our country, and you deserve to be happy, too.”

Mycroft was completely taken by her kindness. “Thank you so much, Mrs Hudson, I can never tell you how much I appreciate your support, and I’m so glad Sherlock can come to you if there is something he needs to talk about with someone else other than me. And I’ll gladly accept your offer to me as well. And please don’t call me Mr Holmes anymore, I’m Mycroft.”

She beamed at him. “And you can call me Martha. Better not if John’s around, as he might wonder. Oh, I think they’re coming out!”

Mycroft could hear them, too, Sherlock’s sexy, deep voice, the sharp voice of the doctor, and the unknown one of a female client. The door of the flat was opened and closed, and then Sherlock and John came into the living room. He watched his brother’s reaction to seeing him there, and it made his heart jump to see the joy in Sherlock’s eyes.

“Mycroft, you are here already!” It obviously took him a lot of effort not to sound overenthusiastic.

“Mycroft, nice to see you. What made you come here?” John asked him. “Your face looks much better, so the balm has helped. Have you checked on your blood pressure again?”

“Oh yes, it’s all fine, thank you very much again,” Mycroft replied. “And I’m here to give Sherlock a ride home.”

“Home, yes. Have you seen his real home upstairs? Looking good, isn’t it? Mrs Hudson, have you contacted them again?”

“Dear, I told you what the problem is. There’s nothing I can do about it, I’m so sorry.”

Mycroft thought that she could lie better than anyone else he knew. He hurried to provide everybody with tea and a piece of cake. He hoped the doctor would leave as soon as they were through with it.

“You’re behaving like a good housewife, brother dear,” Sherlock teased him while sitting down next to him.

“Taking care of you made me get used to that,” Mycroft replied.

“But here you are not throwing the plates on the table.”

“Because here are at least two decent people who cherish my efforts.”

Mycroft saw the sparks in Sherlock’s eyes and he glanced over to Mrs Hudson who was watching them with a smile.

As soon as he’d finished his cake, John got up. “I have to go now, thank you for the tea and the delicious cake, Mrs Hudson.”

“Mycroft brought the cake,” Sherlock told him and Mycroft closed his eyes.

“He did? Why? Did we just celebrate something I’m not aware of?”

Sherlock seemed to freeze but his thinking process was working as fast as ever. “No, nothing, but he can’t live without eating it for a single day, hence his protruding hips.” He sent an apologetic look to Mycroft.

“Indeed. I’ve found out that a sugar coma is the only way to deal with Sherlock’s mess.” He regretted having said this in the same moment. What if John suggested that Sherlock should move back in with him then if he was such a burden to Mycroft? He had to agree with Sherlock. It _really_ sucked to have to watch every word, every movement…

But luckily enough, John just chuckled and headed for the door. “I bet you two have a lot of fun together. Bye, see you tomorrow. Not you, Mycroft.” With this he left the room and the three people remaining silently listened until they heard the front door being opened and shut.

Sherlock immediately wrapped his arms around Mycroft’s neck and kissed him. “We do, Mycie, don’t we? Have a lot of fun?”

Mycroft kissed him back, strangely enough not bothered by Mrs Hudson watching them. “Oh yes, we do,” he murmured in Sherlock’s mouth.

“Oh, look at you. I just knew it would be like that, seeing you together. You’re so lovely.”

Mycroft smiled. “Well, thank you. There’s only one lovely part of this couple of course and that’s not me.”

“See what I have to deal with? He just doesn’t believe me that he’s just gorgeous and adorable.” Sherlock kissed his ear.

“Oh, he is indeed and so are you. You make such an attractive couple. Do you have a nice photograph of you together at all? I know people do these selfies all the time, but it’s not the same.”

Mycroft caught Sherlock’s gaze. “We wanted to take a picture for your frame, didn’t we?” Sherlock asked.

“Of course. Somehow we managed to forget about that. Would you mind, Martha?” He handed her his phone.

“I’d love to! Sherlock put your arms around his neck again. And both of you smile! Yes, that’s wonderful. That will look so good in a frame. And now, kiss for the next one.”

Mycroft wasn’t sure that this was a good idea. But then, he could always save the pictures on a memory stick and delete them from his phone. He leaned over and saw how surprised Sherlock was that he was willing to have such a picture taken, which made him even more determined to do it. They kissed and while Mrs Hudson gave orders how to turn, they got lost in this kiss.

“I shot so many pictures and they’re all lovely,” Mrs Hudson interrupted them and gave the phone back to Mycroft.

Sherlock got up from the sofa. “Thank you for everything, Martha. I would love to stay longer but…” He looked to Mycroft who followed in an instant.

“Of course, you two want to be alone after such a long day. I can imagine very well.” She walked them to the door. “I’d still love to know though…”

Sherlock sent her a questioning look. “Know what?”

“Oh, your brother couldn’t bring himself to tell me what a special thing you did last night.”

Sherlock laughed out loud and turned to Mycroft. “How did _that_ come up in your conversation?”

“Well…” Mycroft felt a little silly. “It seems that Martha is very good at making you say things you didn’t mean to say…”

“She is. But she was less successful with you then. You mind if I tell her?”

“Sherlock! You can’t seriously want to do that!”

“But she’s asking. And we owe her a lot.”

“We do. But you know the sentence _be careful what you wish for_ , Martha?”

The old lady giggled. “I’m very sure it won’t shock me. But we are embarrassing him, Sherlock, you should probably not do it, we don’t want him to feel uncomfortable.”

“I will whisper it in your ear.” He looked at Mycroft with a raised eyebrow as if to ask for his permission, and Mycroft grinned. “Go ahead. But Martha, don’t forget you’ve been warned.”

Sherlock bent over to her and Mycroft could hear him whisper. Many words. Then Mrs Hudson giggled loudly. “I knew it! Oh, that brings back memories!”

Mycroft looked at her disbelievingly, then Sherlock burst out laughing and there was no way for him to not join in.

*****

On their way home they were separated from the driver by the privacy screen so as soon as the car drove off, Sherlock put his hand on Mycroft’s thigh and smiled when Mycroft covered it with his own. They rarely spoke but when the car sped up not long before Mycroft’s house, Sherlock searched his lips for a kiss and Mycroft embraced him and tenderly kissed him back.

The front door of Mycroft’s house had hardly closed behind them when Sherlock almost smashed his brother against it and pinned his hands to it with his. He plundered his mouth and pressed his body against his, wanting to be as close as possible to him, actually he wanted to crawl under his skin. Of course Sherlock had to let him go eventually when he needed his hands to run them over his body and grab his arse in such a tight grip that Mycroft moaned into his mouth. Sherlock felt that Mycroft was as hard as he was and rubbed his erection against his brother’s equally hard member.

When it got really difficult to breathe, Mycroft finally broke the kiss, holding Sherlock away at his shoulders. “My God, brother, if you go on like that, I may really have a stroke someday. What was this for?”

“I just missed you so much all day.” Oh _how_ much he had…

“But it seems you were quite tied up with your cases?”

“Cases,” Sherlock hissed. “Always the same boring stuff. Oooh, my sister stole my son, oooh, my husband ate the dog, oooh, my neighbour killed his wife and buried her under my roses…”

Mycroft laughed. “Boring stuff, I see. Be happy that you didn’t have to sit in all these meetings today with all these big headed pricks who think non-existing problems have to be solved yesterday.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck and this time he kissed him tenderly. “We’re too good for this world, Mycie, too smart, they should leave us both in peace.”

“Unfortunately, Sherlock, that’s exactly why we are needed out there. And you’ve always loved your puzzles.” Sherlock just nodded silently, and Mycroft sent him a sad smile. “My love, I know it’s hard. I also…”

He broke off and smiled wryly, but Sherlock was pretty sure he knew what he’d been about to say. _I also hate my job…_ But Sherlock knew he would never admit that to anybody, not even to him. What would the British Government be without Mycroft? Nothing, it wouldn’t even exist. Mycroft would overcome his current displeasure with his work, at least when they wouldn’t be able to spend the nights together anymore. “Mycie, I want to visit Eurus tomorrow,” he said in a resigned tone. Today was as good as any to approach him with that. There would never be a good time, and he felt he should see his sister before their parents would be home from their holidays on Friday.

A curtain seemed to fall behind Mycroft’s eyes and Sherlock felt his grip around his waist loosen. “Alright, I will give them a call. When?”

“You don’t mind?” He knew that was a stupid question. Of course he did.

“Would that matter?”

“Mycie, I…”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, that wasn’t fair. I’ve already told you that you and our parents can choose for yourselves whether you want to have contact with her or not. Give me a time and I’ll let them know you’re coming and send you the helicopter.”

“You won’t…” He couldn’t finish his question as Mycroft interrupted him coldly.

“No. You can demand anything from me, but not that.”

“I won’t go either, I don’t know what I was thinking…” Was he crazy to risk their love over that? He would never do anything that would cause Mycroft to leave him.

“Sherlock, don’t. You will not lose me because you want to have contact with our sister.” It was obvious he had difficulty even saying the final word. “Go see her, but I would appreciate if you did it during the day so we won’t lose any time to be together.” His voice broke at the end of the sentence and Sherlock pulled him into a tight embrace.

“Of course I want to do it when we have to be apart anyway. I don’t want to miss a second with you.” He took Mycroft’s hand. “Come upstairs.”

“Alright, but first I have to go to the…” Mycroft broke off. “I guess that wasn’t on your mind anyway.”

“No, Mycie, not tonight. It’s not the time for kink tonight.” Definitely not. It was time to show him how much he loved him.

While they were going upstairs, Mycroft asked: “Is there another kinky thing you’d like to try? Not tonight, but sometime?”

His tone sounded much lighter and Sherlock pressed his hand, feeling happy that their closeness had returned so fast. “That depends on what is _kinky_ for you. I’d love to try bondage, roleplaying, public places…”

“Public places?! Oh Sherlock, you are something else!”

“Something else than what?”

“I don’t know, just something completely else.” They had reached the bedroom and entered it. “Oh, Sherlock, Mrs Brown is coming tomorrow around nine. You know, my housekeeper.”

“Oh, I see. I’ll make sure I’ll be gone by that time.” Sherlock felt the familiar pull at his heart. Just another person they had to hide their love from…

“You don’t have to, she’s aware that you are staying with me. But um, could you just make sure the guest room looks like it’s been used? I will change the sheets in our bed as I always do, I’ve never liked anyone touching it. Until now… But can you just roll around on the guest bed as if you’d slept in it? I would do it myself but it’s better if she finds your hairs, not mine…”

“Yes, I will do that.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. I didn’t want to spoil the moment.”

“You didn’t. You’re just being the reasonable one, as you’ve always been.” Sherlock tried to shake off the sad feeling and kissed his lover. “What would you like to do now?”

“It seems you already had something in mind?”

“It’s all about you now.”

“Why? You don’t have to make up for anything.”

“I want to do something to make you feel…” His voice got quieter with every word and then he stopped.

“Feel what?” Mycroft said quietly and stroked his face gently.

“Feel how much I love you. I’ve torn your life apart, spoilt your dedication to your work, forced you to join forces with my landlady because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut, I hurt you with wanting to visit someone who wanted to see you dead and I don’t really know myself why, in short, I’ve turned all you knew upside down. And I want you to know the most important thing in this world for me is to make you believe that you are the most wonderful, beautiful, worthy man there is. I love you so much that it hurts.”

“Oh Sherlock, come here.” Mycroft wrapped his arms around him and Sherlock just gave into the tender embrace. He pressed his face against Mycroft’s throat so he felt it vibrating when he spoke.

“Yes, you did turn my life upside down but what sort of life was it before we got together? All I did was work, without someone to come home to, a life without laughter, without being touched and touching anyone, touching _you_ , a life without your love. I wouldn’t want it back for anything in the world because I love you more than I could ever tell you.”

Sherlock smiled and kissed him again and the kiss got more passionate with every second. “So, what do you want to do now, Mycie?” Sherlock asked him again when he had reluctantly pulled back a little. His cock was twitching in his trousers and it was hard to overlook that Mycroft was in the same condition.

Pale blue eyes looked deeply in his. “Let me love you, slow and nice and tender.”

Sherlock got rid of his clothes in a time that must have been close to a world record. “I’m all yours, Mycie.”

 

 

 


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A rather short one today ;)

“Sherlock, are you alright?”

“Huh?” Sherlock tried to get rid of the image in his mind and return to 221A, where he was of course, but only physically.

“You are so absent,” John said. “You didn’t even say goodbye to Mr Forster.”

Sherlock looked at him inquiringly.

“Mr Forster, the client who just left! You solved the case, remember?”

“Oh, yes, of course.”

“Sherlock, you are really worrying me. Even by your standards your behaviour has been weird lately.” John shook his head.

Sherlock finally forced himself to stop thinking about last night, which was very difficult because he could literally still _feel_ Mycroft’s cock in his arse and taste him on his tongue. “I’m sorry, I’m just nervous. I’m going to see Eurus today.”

“Oh, wow. That surprises me.”

“She’s my sister after all, John.”

“Yes, of course. Well, that explains a lot. How are you going to get there? I assume she’s still in Sherrinford, or have they set her free?” He grimaced.

“She’s still there. Mycroft will send a helicopter to pick me up at eleven-thirty to get me there.”

“That surprises me even more. Is he going to join you?”

“No. He’s not too fond of the idea.”

“I can imagine that very well since she wanted you to kill him.”

Sherlock cringed at that thought. “He doesn’t like it at all. But I just feel I should try to understand her. What she did, all of it, is unforgivable, but she’s always been so lonely in her cell. I’m not saying she doesn’t have to be locked away, but she’s still a human. And now she isn’t even talking anymore. Perhaps I can help her to, I don’t know, find a way of communicating again, without manipulating people to be killers. I’ll take the violin she gave me with me, perhaps I can reach her through the music.”

“Very nice of you. See, Sherlock, it’s great to talk to you again like that. I’ve been missing that. And you had not seen Rosie for almost a week.” He had brought the baby with him that morning. Mrs Hudson would be available for babysitting all day.

Sherlock felt a little guilty to have not visited John and Rosie at all since the week before. But his entire self was focused on one matter, or better, one _man_ , and there was no room for anything else.

“Are you sure you don’t want to come back and live with us until this damn company finally fixes the flat?”

“That’s nice of you, but I think I will stay with Mycroft. I feel that we are getting along so much better now and I would like to deepen our relationship a little more.” _Oh, and how much more…_

“He did look pretty happy yesterday. Obviously you’re a good influence on him.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure if _good influence_ was the right expression, but he certainly agreed with making Mycroft very happy. Again and again… He shushed the thought away, fearing a certain part of his body would react to it…

“Why don’t you come over for dinner at least tonight?” John went on.

Sherlock froze. Even the thought of spending a single minute he could be with Mycroft with someone else made him sick. How could he get out of this?

“We could ask Mycroft over, too,” John suggested to his surprise.

That sounded better. A bit. But then he remembered how Mycie was feeling about him seeing Eurus and knew they just had to be alone all evening so he could make up for that. And sod it, he didn’t want to be with his lover anywhere where they couldn’t be naked if he had a choice.

“I don’t think he’ll want to, but thank you. He’s very tense because our parents are coming back in two days and he’ll have to explain Eurus to them. And I think I’d better go home to give him some support.”

“As you wish.” John sounded disappointed and a little angry.

“But when I come back from Sherrinford, we could go to a playground with Rosie if there’s no urgent case,” Sherlock suggested quickly. It was not only to soothe John but also because he felt that after the oppressed atmosphere that he certainly would find at this creepy prison, spending some time with the innocent child would cheer him up.

“Yes, that would be fine,” John said with a smile.

*****

On balance, Sherlock thought, his stay in Sherrinford had been more pleasant and delightful than spending time on a playground. He had thought that being with Rosie, the nice and quiet baby, would be a good distraction from meeting his mad sister. But he had not considered the bunch of screaming, crying, fighting, in short totally annoying children who were running around him, or their mothers with their never ending silly chatter. He had never felt more out of place in his entire life, which meant a lot, and he knew that he and the doctor and the baby made for a very strange family. John knew some of the women (there was not a single man apart from them) and Sherlock heard more than one asking whether Sherlock was his partner, and they didn’t mean partner in solving crimes…

The only way to distract himself was to text with Mycroft. He had contacted him after his visit to Eurus of course and had let him know that she had not spoken to him either but had reacted positively to his violin playing. Mycroft had been more interested than he’d dared hope for, and hadn’t behaved as if he’d felt betrayed by Sherlock visiting their sister. Now Sherlock needed his comfort.

_ Please send the helicopter again, Mycie! Rather lock me up in Sherrinford, too… Everything’s better than being here… SH _

_ My God, what happened? Has the army conscripted you? MH _

_ Worse… I’m on a playground with John and Rosie and all ill-behaved children of London including their dumb-arse mothers. SH _

_ Dear me… That sounds like hell to me… Sneak away as soon as you can… MH _

_ I will… But the alternative would have been to visit John for dinner… And I didn’t want to be away from you a minute longer than necessary… SH _

_ I see. I will be at home around seven. Since I didn’t have a chance to have a look at the work I brought home yesterday, I will be busy until then. MH _

_ Sorry, Mycie. I know I’m a terrible distraction for you. SH _

_ Yes you are. And I couldn’t think of a more welcome one. MH _

_ I love you, Mycie. Can’t wait to see you later. Shall let you get back to work now so you’ll be finished as soon as possible. SH _

_ That sounds like a good idea. And I love you, too, Sherlock. More than anything. MH _

Sherlock tried to get rid of the beatific smile on his face when he turned to John, who was kneeling in the sand pit with his daughter and playing with her. He almost fell off the bench he was sitting on when a boy of about five years ran past him, screaming loudly, and threw what seemed to be a mixture of sand and water on John. The doctor got up, spitting and furious, the disgusting paste running down his face and into the collar of his white shirt.

“Oh, fucking…” He interrupted himself and turned to the mothers who were looking at him in disgrace. “Sorry. Sherlock, could you lend me a hand?”

Sherlock tried to clean him up, but he knew it was pointless that way. “You must get rid of this,” he said and started opening the buttons of the partly soaking shirt.

“Sherlock, I can’t undress here,” John protested, but Sherlock went on.

“Don’t be silly, everyone saw what happened, it’s not like they could think that you turned into an exhibitionist or that I want to rip your clothes off to make out with you. Not even those stupid _women._ ” Once John was bare-chested, Sherlock opened the bottle of water he had brought with him and tried to clean John’s neck and chest. And of course a memory popped up in his mind, namely him sucking at Mycroft’s nipples the night before. Mycroft’s moans had turned him on so much that he had almost come right away.

He tried to shake off the picture and was about to tell John to put his shirt back on (John had tried to clean it in the meantime with little success) when the boy came back with the next load of dirt. Obviously his mother was not among the women around, or possibly she pretended not to be… “No, buddy, just bugger off!” Sherlock grabbed for the arm of the kid which made him lose his sticky weapon. The child stared at him and started to shiver and cry. But he was looking neither at Sherlock’s furious face nor at the hand that was holding his little arm…

“Oh, Sherlock!” John stammered, and Sherlock realised that he was as hard as a rock, very visible in his tight trousers. He immediately let go of the child and felt his cheeks blush. Not for the first time in his life he cursed his pale complexion that made him get red like a tomato so often.

“Don’t be silly, John, what do you think I am, a paedophile?” he hissed, and then the thought hit him that he couldn’t explain to John why he was having a hard-on. _You know, I thought of chewing at my brother’s nipples, and then it just happened…_

He heard the women around them whisper and saw them staring at him in disgust. Probably using the word _paedophile_ had not been such a great idea, or perhaps it was just because of the big and pretty persistent bulge in his trousers…

“Oh Sherlock, I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” John said and hastily closed the buttons of his dirty shirt. “Of course, I _should_ have known after Sherrinford.”

“What are you talking about?” Sherlock looked at him with narrowed eyes. Why the hell had he suggested coming here? He had obviously been out of his mind…

“You should have told me. So that’s why you couldn’t live in my flat anymore. You know, I’m very flattered of course, if I was gay you’d be my first choice, but…”

Sherlock finally got it and couldn’t believe his ears. “You think I’m in love with you?! John, don’t be absurd! I… “ He broke off. What was he supposed to say now? Nothing. He couldn’t say anything. He felt a rage he’d never experienced before building up and knew if he didn’t leave at once, he would just crush something or someone. He grabbed his jacket from the bench and stormed off.

“Sherlock, wait! Let’s talk about it!”

“Fuck you, John!” he screamed as loud as he could, and when he turned his head he saw wide eyes all around him. “Fuck you all!”

Within two minutes he had reached 221A. Mrs Hudson had left to visit a friend when Sherlock and John had gone out with Rosie, so he just picked up the bag that contained his violin and ran down the steps again. Lucky for him, John had not arrived yet. He was probably still making excuses to the housewives… Sherlock hailed a cab and barked at the driver to take him to Mycroft’s address. To take him home… It took him several minutes to realise that he was crying.

*****

Mycroft opened the door and stepped into his house. Once more returning from work to Sherlock. He didn’t see anything of his brother when he hung up his jacket and put his umbrella in its stand. But then he heard a noise, obviously coming from the training room, and he smiled. Apparently Sherlock had found the punch bag. At least he hoped it was the punch bag which Sherlock was manhandling, not a victim he had brought from the playground…

He provided himself with a drink first, and while sipping at it, he went to look for Sherlock. When he entered the room, he stood still and just stared at him. He had known that his lover was beautiful, but seeing him like that made him gasp. Sherlock was facing away from him, clearly not knowing that Mycroft had arrived. He only wore a pair of white training shorts and shoes, and he was covered in sweat so his amazing arse was shining through the thin fabric of his trousers. The muscles in his arms, back and legs were working as he punched away, and to Mycroft he looked like a living Greek statue in a bad mood.

A little late he realised the amount of sweat and the heavy and rather slow movements Sherlock was making, and he wondered how long he’d been hammering away at the training tool already. “Sherlock?” he called, and his brother turned around fast, almost losing his balance. His hair was completely wet, his eyes red and swollen, his wonderful lips pressed together to a thin line, and he was breathing very hard.

“Mycie, you’re here already? How late is it?” He sounded confused and depressed.

“About five-thirty. Sherlock, what’s wrong?”

“Why are you so early? I thought you’d be working much longer today?”

“Well, I felt I should be leaving sooner.” It seemed to him that even he sometimes had premonitions. “Tell me what happened!” He took another step towards his brother but Sherlock made no attempt to touch him and even backed away.

“But what about your work? I don’t want you to neglect your duties.”

“I just delegated a few of them. I thought, I’m the boss, why should I do everything myself?” He realised he was still holding the glass in his hand, and put it on the table next to him even though he thought he might still need the drink…

“Because you’re a control freak?”

“Well, it seems I’m beginning to change quite a bit. Sherlock, stop trying to change the subject and tell me what’s wrong! You look as if you have tried to kill the punching bag for at least an hour, your eyes are red as if you’ve been crying, and I want to know why!”

“It’s nothing.” Sherlock avoided his gaze.

“Don’t do that, Sherlock, don’t push me away.”

“Push you… _away_?” Now he looked at Mycroft, and it almost broke his heart to see the haunted expression in his eyes. “I’m not pushing you away, I…” Finally he closed the distance between them and let himself fall against Mycroft, who embraced him immediately. “I’m ruining your suit with my sweat,” he murmured against Mycroft’s ear, but Mycroft couldn’t have cared less.

“Tell me, baby, what is this all about? It can’t have been that bad there?” He softly stroked some wet, dark curls out of Sherlock’s face.

“But it was!” He finally started to explain, and Mycroft heard the amazing story of incredibly nasty children, a dirty, half-nude John Watson, an erection totally out of place caused by nothing else than his own nipples, and a completely wrong conclusion. It took a lot of effort not to laugh, and when Sherlock told him what he’d said when he’d left the playground, he couldn’t contain it any longer.

“It’s not funny!” Sherlock protested, and he kissed him on the hot forehead.

“I’m sorry, darling, but I think it is.”

To his delight, Sherlock’s lips twitched a little. “Well, if you hear it, it may be. But being there was just crap.”

“I can imagine.” He saw Sherlock’s face frown again. “I know why you’re sad,” he added quietly. “Because you couldn’t tell John _why_ you got hard.”

“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking: here he goes again, the same old story.”

“I thought you could read my mind, but this time you’re wrong.” Mycroft pressed his lover tight. “I’m not thinking that at all. This problem is not solved, and I’m afraid it can never be solved, but that doesn’t mean we don’t still feel bad about it.”

“ _I_ am, but how come that _you_ are always so cool as if it doesn’t bother you at all? I’m sorry, I know that’s not true, probably it’s just because you’re not as much a drama queen as I am…”

Mycroft, who had felt a little hurt by his first sentence, smiled at him. “Don’t worry, I love my cute, sexy drama queen. But there’s something you’re apparently not seeing.” He cupped Sherlock’s face and kissed him on the mouth. He had waited to do that all day and he just couldn’t get over how great it felt. Judging from how eagerly Sherlock responded to his kiss, he was not alone with these feelings.

“And what’s that?” Sherlock mumbled between kisses.

“You will have to let John believe that he’s right.”

Sherlock look at him in disbelief. “What? Are you mad?”

Mycroft chuckled. “No. Deny it but do it in a way that he still believes it. You can’t say you are in love with him because it would make the situation really difficult. But let him think you are but you don’t want to admit it. Because that gives you the perfect reason why you’re staying with me, why you don’t want to see him after work, and why you act a little strangely sometimes, even get erections in front of him.”

Sherlock considered that. “Damn, you’re right. But have you thought about how it will be to work with him? And will that keep him from moving into 221B with me?”

“It won’t be easy but it will be manageable, and no, I don’t think so. You need each other as friends and colleagues, Sherlock. But it will keep him from being so grumpy, and he will treat you as if you were fragile and won’t wonder about you being different than you were before we got together.”

“You really think I should pretend to be unhappily in love with him? I don’t know how…” They looked at each other and Sherlock shrugged. “Well, I do know how that feels. I did for twenty years. But... that will be so strenuous.”

“Consider it a case, Sherlock. You won’t have to do much anyway; I’m sure he will avoid the subject.”

“But he said he wants to talk to me about it. In fact he’s texted me about ten times since it happened.”

“Make him feel uncomfortable. Say something sexy to him. But only if you are completely sure that he really doesn’t want anything from you!” Because the last thing they’d want to happen was that John would decide to give it a try…

“He certainly doesn’t. You should have seen how quickly he put his shirt back on afterwards. But he’s not a homophobe. He wouldn’t mind.”

“Okay, maybe it requires some more thinking,” Mycroft admitted. “But…”

“But?” Sherlock stroked his face gently.

“Now I would like to change the subject.”

“Alright, and what do you want to talk about?”

“I wasn’t thinking about talking.” Mycroft licked down Sherlock’s throat and tasted the salty sweat. He slowly went down on his body, licking traces over his smooth chest and let his tongue play with Sherlock’s nipples, then he licked his way down to his navel and teased it with his tongue. All these actions were accompanied by loud moans and hands frantically rubbing his head and his shoulders. He vaguely noticed that Sherlock poured down his drink, which made him smile. When he finally pulled the shorts down to inhale Sherlock’s stiff, big dick, he was throbbing hard. And he knew that they’d soon find out how comfortable sex on an exercise bench was.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock took a deep breath when he slowly entered 221A the next morning.

“Oh, good morning, beautiful. Why are you lingering at the door? Come in!” Mrs Hudson smiled at him brightly.

Sherlock forced a smile onto his face. “Good morning, Martha. Is John already there?”

“No, dear, but he will soon drop by after leaving Rosie at daycare as I can’t look after her this morning. Sherlock, is everything alright?”

Sherlock shrugged. “Well… Things have become even more complicated yesterday. Didn’t John tell you?”

“No, I didn’t see him again. When I came back, he had left with Rosie. What happened?”

When they were sitting on the couch in her living room, Sherlock told his story again, but Mrs Hudson did not laugh. “Poor Sherlock, that must have been so embarrassing. This all must be so hard for you. Oh, no pun intended.”

They both giggled, and Sherlock felt a little better, but he knew it wouldn’t last long. “It is,” he said. “I hate that all. All my adult life, I was told to get attached to someone and find love, and nobody knew I’d been in love with someone all this time, thinking I could never have him. And now that I do have him, I have to play hide and seek because nobody may know it. It makes me sick. And I’m getting on Mycroft’s nerves all the time with it; he’s so much better at taking it as it is.”

“You know, Sherlock, your brother has always had to be the strong one, the responsible one. He wants to be in control, someone to admire and fear but not to access - that doesn’t include you of course. He’s the Iceman or that’s what he wants people to believe. He wouldn’t want anyone to know how deeply he cares about you. And of course, both of you would go to prison if it came out. Not to mention what it would mean for his work.”

“I know. As long as we are in England, we can never show our love. I hate all this lying and being so careful all the time, and all of it because society has decided that what we are feeling is wrong. It drives me mad, and I don’t think that will ever change.”

“I’m afraid it won’t. You can only accept your feelings and try to live with them. I know that’s not much help, I’m sorry. You said, as long as you are in England. Would you do that, go away where you could be together openly?”

“In a second,” Sherlock replied. And he would. Without a single look back. But that was never going to happen because it took two to elope… He pushed that thought away and told Mrs Hudson about Mycroft’s plan for misleading John.

“Oh, that’s a tricky thing, Sherlock. It could work though… but you must be very careful. You shouldn’t hurt his feelings. And on the other hand, you must be convincing, otherwise he might get suspicious.”

“Do you really think he would be able to figure it out? Even consider that?”

“I don’t know, Sherlock. I saw you together when John was there as you know. He didn’t have a clue, but for me it was very visible. Of course I knew it, but I guess for any other sensitive person it would be very clear that things have changed between you two. You were playing your parts well, but that special glow I saw in your face when you read his text last week, is written all over both of you in every interaction, in your looks, in your body language. I’m not sure if a straight man would see it. But if John realises that your feelings for him are a fake, he will wonder what you are hiding. And how difficult would the conclusion be, given all the circumstances? And John is just one problem. If you ever see Miss Hooper together again, be very careful. She’s a lovely person, don’t get me wrong. But she’s longing for you very much and that could make her dangerous to you. People are unpredictable, even when you consider them your friends.”

Sherlock swallowed. He had not spoken with Molly after Sherrinford. Of course Mrs Hudson was right. Molly was a very sensitive person, and if he and Mycroft really behaved so differently, she would figure it out in no time. And who knew what she would do… And God, what about their parents? He was feeling cold all at once, and a big, black hole of desperation seemed to open up in front of him, waiting for his first false step to gobble him up.

“Sherlock, I’m so sorry. I told you to talk to me, but the last thing I wanted was to make you feel even worse!” Mrs Hudson embraced him, and he felt tears appearing in his eyes. Once more…

“Good morning, Mrs… Sherlock! What’s wrong? It’s because of me, right?”

Sherlock forced himself to look at the doctor, who was standing in the door with a shocked expression on his face. “Oh, John. I… just have something in my eyes.”

“Poor honey Sherlock, please, be nice to him,” he heard Mrs Hudson whisper to John. Good old Martha, even though she didn’t really agree with the game he was playing with John, she still supported him.

“There is a client who will come by shortly, are you sure you can deal with that?” John asked him, while Sherlock was getting on his feet.

“I’m fine,” Sherlock hissed through gritted teeth and left the room to go to their _office_. He looked back to Mrs Hudson who winked and smiled at him. Somehow he had to go through this show…

When they entered the former dining room, Sherlock saw that John had brought scones.

“I thought you might like some,” John, who had noticed his look, said almost shyly.

“That was nice of you, thank you. And, I’m sorry I didn’t reply to your texts yesterday. And I’m even more sorry for what I said to you. You know, the _fuck you_ part. That wasn’t nice at all. I was just feeling so…” Sherlock stopped talking and avoided meeting his gaze.

“Oh, that’s no problem at all. I totally understand that. I shouldn’t have been so insistent after that…” He broke off, apparently very unsure how to deal with the situation.

For a long moment neither of them said a word. Sherlock was feeling very uncomfortable and he didn’t even bother hiding it as it was fitting the masquerade very well.

“When will this client finally show up? Is there nobody else waiting outside?” Sherlock asked when he couldn’t stand the silence anymore.

“I don’t think so. Mrs Gardener will be here very soon I’m sure. Sherlock, we have to talk about it, about us.”

“Us?! There’s no _us_!” _Fuck, this is not right! You have to calm down!_

“No, I mean, I only want to say that I don’t mind at all - I meant it when I said I was flattered, and I hope we can still be the friends we’ve always been. I don't feel uncomfortable with you now; I want you to know that.”

Sherlock bit on his bottom lip so hard that he could taste blood. _Deny it but in a way that he still believes it…_ “That’s fine, John, even though I wouldn’t know why you should feel uncomfortable. Nothing happened.” _Oh Mycie, what are you demanding from me…_

“Right, exactly. It’s all fine.”

“ _Fine_. Oh, there she is!” Or anybody else, Sherlock didn’t give a damn. All he wanted was to get out of this conversation before he exploded.

“Mrs Gardener? I’m John Watson and this is Sherlock Holmes. How can we help you?”

*****

“Oh yes… I see… That’s undeniably true… Of course …” Mycroft threw in a comment whenever it seemed to be required, although he was hardly listening to what the Foreign Minister was telling him about the Korean crisis. As soon as his monologue was over, Mycroft complimented the man out of his office and returned to his chair with a deep sigh. At least there wouldn’t be another meeting for the next two hours, so he could concentrate on doing some paperwork and answering his emails. If he was able to concentrate at all…

A knock at the door made him sigh even deeper. Anthea was having her well-earned lunch break, so there was nobody between him and the people outside…

“Yes?” he said with forced patience.

The door was opened and he saw Peter Warner, one of the promising talents in his office. The young man was obviously very hesitant to enter the room.

“Come in, Warner. What can I do for you?” He leaned back in his chair, knowing there was no good news waiting for him. Warner was one of the guys he had provided with some of the work that he’d thought could be delegated. Mycroft had sent him to the meeting with the head of an automobile company the government was in negotiation with for providing their executives with office cars of high class. The contract had been about to be signed, so Mycroft had not seen a problem with sending the well-mannered official there.

“If you had a minute, sir, I’d like to talk to you,” the young man said, even though he would have apparently rather been anywhere else than in Mycroft’s office.

“Sure, take a seat.”

“Thank you, sir. Oh God, I’m so sorry, I messed it up,” he blubbered out all at once.

Mycroft closed his eyes and internally counted to five. “Go ahead,” he said calmly.

It turned out that Peter Warner had offended the CEO unintentionally with offering him a drink after the contract had been signed. Obviously he had forgotten that the man was a reformed alcoholic and very sensitive in this matter.

“He said he will take the contract back, he was so upset. I’m so sorry, I just forgot that you told me!”

Mycroft refrained from smiling. “He’s known to be like that. I will give him a call. The contract has gone over my desk already so there is nothing to worry about.”

The young man looked at him disbelievingly. “You would do that for me? Call the man and apologise for me?”

Mycroft looked at him thoughtfully. Obviously the neat man with the perfectly clipped hair and the expensive suit had been terrified of his reaction to something that really wasn’t a problem. But he wondered if he’d have reacted this way if it had happened eight days ago. But of course he wouldn’t have, because he’d have never sent anyone else to this meeting, and he wondered why he’d always done everything himself. Teamwork had always been an alien concept to him. But now that he needed more time for the one thing that mattered in his life besides his work, he was finally willing to share his responsibilities. And if that meant that he had to say sorry for other people’s mistakes, so be it. “I will take care of it. But I’d appreciate if you noted it down and remembered such information in future.”

“You will still keep me on your staff? Oh, thank you so much, sir! I never expected…” He stopped with flushed cheeks.

_ Never expected you to be so understanding and to not shoot me right away _ , Mycroft thought. Well, that was the Iceman image he had cultivated for so long. He liked it actually. Even though it obviously hadn’t paid out in this case, fearing him would possibly lead to making his little helpers work harder and more reliably.

“You can take this with you while you are here. At four there’s a meeting set with the ambassador of Turkey about this incident with the policewomen. I suppose you are aware of that?”

“Of course! You want _me_ to go there?”

Mycroft raised his left eyebrow. “Do you have any issues with that?”

“No! No! I… Thank you, sir. I will not disappoint you again.”

“I’m sure you won’t. I’d suggest you don’t offer _him_ a drink.”

“Of course not, sir. Thank you so much again.”

Mycroft nodded and gave him a dismissive look. The young man stood up hastily and left the office. Mycroft suppressed a chuckle. _Now go and sin no more…_

He shook his head and called the CEO. It turned out that he had already calmed down a little, and after five minutes of friendly talking, he seemed to be totally appeased. Mycroft ended the call in a rather good mood and turned to concentrate on his reports when his mobile chirped.

_ I will kill him if he goes on looking at me like that. Or if he offers me one more cup of tea. SH _

Mycroft caught himself smiling widely. He wouldn’t be able to look at these emails so soon, but he didn’t mind at all. They could _wait_.

_ You are talking about Dr Watson I assume? MH _

_ The one and only. The love of my life. Who’s in danger of losing his head in less than two minutes. SH _

_ So he’s buying it? MH _

_ Oh yes. Your plan is working out fine. Only that he’s driving me crazy. SH _

_ Stay strong. It’s for a higher purpose. MH _

_ You owe me something. SH _

_ I owe you? If you hadn’t fantasized about licking my nipples in front of innocent children and an almost naked John, you wouldn’t be in this situation. MH _

_ Oh, don’t do that! I can’t think of that again now! SH _

_ I’m so sorry. So are you getting hard already? MH _

_ Lucky for me, no. I’m too pissed off. You should see how concerned he's looking at me now. He thinks I’m suffering because I’m not allowed to rip his clothes off. SH _

_ Poor honey. I will allow you to rip off mine when I come home. MH _

_ Now I’m getting hard. Thank you. SH _

_ Don’t worry, he’ll think it’s for him. If he sees it, just say it’s a late morning boner and look sad. MH _

_ You think that’s funny, right? You have any idea how hard it is to play “I’m in love with you but I don’t want to show you” when you’re not in love in the least? SH _

_ No, I don’t. But I know how hard it is to play “I’m not in love with you” when you’re so in love that it hurts. I’m very happy I don’t have to do that anymore. At least not with you. MH _

_ I agree. But Martha told me we’re not that good at playing it in front of others. SH _

_ What does that mean? Does she think John became suspicious when he saw us together? MH _

_ She said he didn’t get it. But if I don’t convince him that I desire him, he might figure it out. I don’t worry too much because he definitely believes it. But others like Molly might see it. Martha said our feelings show through in whatever we do. SH _

_ Wow. But there’s not much we can do about it, is there? MH _

_ No. Do you think we can hide it from our parents? I suppose we will see them tomorrow? SH _

_ I think we will. The sooner I work my way through explaining Eurus to them, the better. And don’t worry, they will be so mad at me that there’s no danger they’ll notice at all. MH _

_ Yes, I guess so. And when we see them next time, we’ll be more used to behave as if nothing had changed. SH _

_ You think so? You think our feelings will cool down until - Christmas, I suppose? MH _

_ My feelings for you will never cool down. Not in twenty years. But we are the Holmes boys, we’re used to making everyone believe we’re cold like fishes, and we will remember how that works by then. SH _

_ I am. You are a vivacious prima donna. Probably you will get into my pants under the Christmas tree when everybody is singing “Silent night”. MH _

_ God, I love you, Mycie. I want to be in your pants right now. Instead of sitting next to John and some guy who looks at me strangely because I’m texting all the time while he’s talking about the mysterious disappearance of his rubbish bins every week. SH _

_ You have a client there? But well, rubbish bins? I’m beginning to understand why you’re so fed up with your work. And I love you, too and wish my pants were down around my ankles while your tongue was buried in my hole. MH _

_ Oh, Mycie. You know how to turn me on. There’s no place my tongue would rather be now. Except for your mouth of course. SH _

_ First the mouth, then the hole. Or alternate it. I like to taste myself on your tongue. MH _

_ I swear if you go on like that, I will sit here in wet pants very soon. Wait a second, I’ll just tell the client who’s taking the bins away. SH _

Mycroft smiled and shook his head. His brother was unbelievable - solving a case while he was doing something completely different and very distracting. He took the chance to look at his computer, and he could see one email after the other coming in. With a sigh he forwarded all he could to his staff with short notes how to act on them. He was getting through that surprisingly fast (of course he couldn’t delegate everything), but he felt he was becoming acquainted very well on how to not take all the burdens and instead decide who’d be the best to take care of each matter. He saved the stuff he had to look into himself in a folder on his computer. There was nothing that had to be done at once.

_ Sorry, he was a little slow in understanding why a man who lives three streets away should mess with his bins. Where were we? By the way: I’m keeping you from working, aren’t I? SH _

_ Don’t worry. I used the little interruption to delegate some duties. And we were in my pants. Not literally unfortunately. MH _

_ I’m proud of you. You need to save your strength as you have a very demanding boyfriend who will be in said pants tonight for sure. SH _

_ Boyfriend? That sounds so nice. I’d have never thought I’d be someone’s boyfriend. Especially not the one of the only man that ever mattered. MH _

_ But you are. And he couldn’t love you more. What colour are the briefs that you’re wearing today? As I was under the shower when you got dressed this morning. SH _

_ They’re black. Calvin Klein. I just bought them so undo them carefully if possible. MH _

_ You told me that I could rip your clothes off, remember? I should have known that you’re not going to keep your promises. But if you insist, I’ll pull them down slowly with my teeth. SH _

_ You’d just get a mouthful of fuzz. I’d rather take them off myself while you are kneeling in front of me, then I’ll dip my dick into your mouth. MH _

_ Oh, Mycie… I can already taste it. Do you know how much I love trying to stick the tip of my tongue in that tiny slit and lick up the salty drops? SH _

_ Are you as hard as I am now? If someone comes in now, I will pierce him with my boner. MH _

_ I’m sure the table top will start to move up in a second. Probably I should just take my cock out and shoot under it. But then everybody will get wet feet. SH _

_ What a nice picture. But try to save it up for later. I don’t want to miss a drop of your cum. MH _

_ You shall be allowed to devour all of it, and please return the favour - I won’t have to cook then. Can I ask you something personal? SH _

_ Please, Sherlock. Can our conversation get any more personal? MH _

_ I just wonder… I guess you were as good friends with your right hand as I was before we got together. What did you fantasize about when you did it? SH _

_ You of course. Always you. MH _

_ And what did I do in your fantasy? SH _

_ Oh, everything we now do together. I took you, you took me, 69 was a special favourite. And what about you? MH _

_ Which picture pops up in your mind first when you imagine having sex with me now? And for me it was always me pleasing you, blowing you, letting you take me, you giving me orders. SH _

_ Oh, this is where this “order me” line is coming from. Interesting. Especially as I’ve always thought you hated being given orders by me. But probably that was because I gave you the wrong orders… If I had to pick one picture, it would be you on your knees in front of me, my hands spreading your cheeks, the tip of my dick pushing into your pink, wet, open hole. MH _

_ Oh fuck, Mycie, I think I’ll explode in a second. This is so hot. Did I mention we have another client with us? She talks and talks and doesn’t even notice that I’m on my phone. SH _

_ How the hell are you able to listen to them and send and read such texts at the same time and above all else, solve the case? You know that I’m the smart one, but I couldn’t do that! MH _

_ Please. I don’t need even half of my brain for their “problems” and my ears are not involved in our texting, are they? No problem here at all. SH _

_ What do you think John believes that you are doing on your phone all the time? MH _

_ If you wanted to cool my arousal down, you succeeded by mentioning him, thank you. And he is used to me being on the phone all the time; he knows my brain is only confident if it does several things simultaneously. The only challenge is to keep my mouth from smiling all the time, but I’m getting better and better at it. SH _

_ I’m glad to hear that. But you’re never on the phone when we are together. Not even when we don’t have sex. MH _

_ Of course not. First, being with you requires all my brain power. And second, there’s absolutely nothing I’d prefer over being with you, no matter what we do. I guess that’s what love means. SH _

_ Yes, I guess so, too. I can’t wait to be with you tonight. Would you mind having a dildo involved in our play for more than prepping purposes? MH _

_ Does that mean my cock is not enough for you??? SH _

_ Not in the least. But I would love to try fucking you while I stick it up my arse and imagine you’re fucking me at the same time. MH _

_ And my hard-on is back. That sounds great. I just hope you won’t start loving it more than my cock. SH _

_ Don’t worry. It’s awful to suck at it so it can’t replace your delicious member. MH _

_ I’m glad to hear that. I guess we’d better cut our conversation here as I don’t want you to come home late because you didn’t get your work done. As much as I wish we could text all day before we are getting at it all night. SH _

_ You might be right. Thank you for this really delightful session, I’m going to make up for it tonight. MH _

_ The pleasure was all mine, Mycie. But if you want to do me a favour, please let me prepare your hole properly by licking it for half an hour before you put that dildo in. SH _

_ That can be arranged. I love you, little brother. Bye for now. MH _

_ Bye, Mycie. I love you so very much. I’ll be waiting for you when you come home. SH _

It was extremely difficult for Mycroft to concentrate on work after this stimulating conversation. He had to delete their texts for safety reasons as usual, but each message from Sherlock would stay burnt in his brain forever. He had to force himself to distract his thoughts from what was on the table for the evening, and when it was time to go into the meeting with the Prime Minister, he had taken care of all matters he had saved for himself, had answered emails, called people where required and had checked with Anthea as to what had to be prepared for the upcoming days. He was surprised how well his brain was still working on issues that didn’t mean anything to him anymore other than fulfilling his duties.

 


	9. Chapter 9

“Thank you for coming, brother,” Sherlock was welcomed when he entered Mycroft’s office about twenty-four hours later. Anthea had just showed him in, and after closing the door, he hurried to greet his brother properly by wrapping his arms around him and kissing him.

“Of course I come if you want me to,” he whispered. It felt so good to be with him in daylight again for a change. “You know, I won’t be able to be that openly on your side, but I hope my presence will make you feel better.”

“It definitely will,” Mycroft whispered back. “And thanks for not saying _I told you not to inform them on the phone_.”

“I’d never do,” Sherlock assured him, kissed him once more and then reluctantly stepped back a little, knowing their parents could show up every second. “I wished they had not insisted on coming here to confront you face-to-face.”

Mycroft had become very nervous the evening before because of the expected confrontation with their parents, and he had tried to convince Sherlock and himself that they would accept being told on the phone. Sherlock had had his doubts about that and it had turned out that he had been right. Now they were on their way, not even willing to wait until Mycroft was finished with his daily work. They had boiled with indignation as Mycroft had told him, and both brothers knew that a bad scene was waiting for them.

It turned out to be even worse than Sherlock had expected. His mother was getting at Mycroft in a way that made it very difficult for him not to interfere immensely. Seeing Mycroft so hurt and defeated made him crazy, and it almost killed him that he couldn’t get loud and had to limit his reaction to a mild _He did his best,_ which only led to his mother insulting his brother even more by calling him _very limited_. The only good thing Sherlock could find about this horrible situation was that there was certainly no danger that their parents would perceive that the relationship between Mycroft and he had changed.

They went on and on and asked to visit Eurus, and his mother got even more upset when Mycroft told her that it wouldn’t make sense because she wasn’t talking to anyone anymore. Sherlock knew he only said that to spare their parents a big disappointment, but he wasn’t rewarded for his thoughtfulness. Their gazes met many times during the unpleasant conversation, and Sherlock tried his best to show his compassion and love without letting anyone else seeing it. When Mummy turned to him and called him the _grown-up_ , he cringed internally, and he realised that what he was feeling for their parents was very close to _hatred_.

“Well, we all know who the grown-up in this room is, and it’s not me. Anyway, Mycroft, could you arrange another visit at Sherrinford tomorrow? Mummy and Father could come with me. I did reach Eurus in a way through my violin playing and perhaps, Mummy, you would like to attend it, even though she won’t talk?” He sent an apologetic look to Mycroft, but his brother smiled shortly.

“Of course that can be arranged. Would eleven o’clock suit you, Mummy?”

It did, and finally the elder Holmeses left, not even bidding Mycroft goodbye. Sherlock watched the door close behind them and turned to his brother, who was sitting behind his desk with hanging shoulders and the saddest face he had ever seen on him.

“Come, Mycie, let’s go outside and have some ice cream,” Sherlock said firmly.

“What? Ice cream?” His voice sounded distracted and depressed, and Sherlock was about to smash his fist against the wall.

“Yes. There’s a really good ice cream parlour around the corner.  I bet you’ve never tried it.”

“Sherlock, that’s nice, but I have to…”

“What you have to do now is get out of here and see something different and forget this fucking crap you just experienced. I would rather give you a blowjob, but as I’m sure we would be disturbed, I’ll do that when we are at home.”

Mycroft finally smiled at him, but there was a sadness in it that almost broke Sherlock’s heart. “I appreciate your concern, brother mine, but we both know I had this coming. I told them their daughter was dead and kept them from seeing her for so many years - of course they’re upset.”

“You know, I don’t have to explain to you that what you did was what you thought was the best solution. And I don’t mind them being upset. But they had no right to treat you the way they did. Nobody should do that.” _Nobody should do that to you and be allowed to get away with it in one piece…_

Mycroft got up and went around his desk to touch Sherlock’s arm. “Don’t be angry at them, they will calm down. I don't resent them their reaction.”

“Well, _I do_.”

“Don’t, honey.” Mycroft cupped his face with his huge hands. “You are doing your best to get Eurus back in our family, and I hope you’ll succeed. Don’t hate our parents now instead. If you can forgive Eurus, you should do the same for them.”

“There’s a difference, Mycie. Eurus is sick in her mind and soul. She’s a sociopath, much more than I am. It was already too late for her when she was still a little kid. I only feel a connection with her because I felt so lonely myself all my life and now I have you and she’ll never have anyone.” He realised that this could be not much comfort to Mycroft as he knew now that Sherlock’s unspoken love for him had been the main reason for Sherlock’s loneliness and his later failures, but he chose to not go down that path now. “Our parents don’t have any excuse to be so hard on you. You explained to them why you could not have acted differently. They should thank you for taking the responsibility instead of treating you like a traitor.”

Mycroft smiled sadly. “They don't see that. But we should give them time, and once they meet Eurus, they’ll probably understand. It was a good idea of you to take them to her tomorrow.”

“You know that I don’t have the slightest wish to spend any minute of our precious weekend with our parents, but I figured it was the only way to get rid of them before I would just explode. I only hope you will be awaiting me at home when I come back from there, nude and willing.”

“No, I won’t. I’ll come with you.”

Sherlock opened his eyes widely. “You will?”

Mycroft sighed. “I don’t think I can avoid her forever, and getting the whole little family together might be a signal to Eurus. And to our parents.”

Sherlock embraced him closely and kissed his throat. “That sounds great to me. But…”

“Yes?”

“Will you be nude and willing when we get home?”

“Oh yes. No doubt about that. So, and now…”

“Alright, I will let you get back to work.”

“No, I think you said something about having ice cream together?”

“Have I already told you how much I love you today?”

“No, I don’t think so. But I could see it in your eyes the entire time.” He pulled Sherlock close for a long, tender kiss. “Which sort of ice cream would you recommend?”

“They’re all great. I prefer chocolate and cherry.”

“Sounds good to me. Let’s go. Oh, and I’ll remind you of that blowjob as soon as I come home today.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll be all over you as soon as the door has closed behind you.”

*****

Sherlock had been right - the ice cream was heavenly. They had chosen a table on the pavement, and Mycroft enjoyed the sunlight on his face, the taste and the coldness of his ice cream, and above all being with his brother like that. Of course they had to keep their distance, but Sherlock made sure to touch his legs with his from time to time. He told Mycroft some amusing stories about the clients he had seen in the morning and complained about John, who had been asking him if he was alright every five minutes.

Mycroft listened to him with a smile and genuine interest, but what he noticed apart from it was not that amusing to him. Sherlock was the centre of attention, especially of young women, who obviously knew who he was. Pictures of him were taken with smartphones from a distance, and whenever he realised that, Mycroft made sure that he wasn’t looking at Sherlock and put on his Iceman face, just in case he would be captured as well. Sherlock didn’t seem to notice at all, at least he wasn’t paying any attention to anyone except Mycroft, who ran out of patience when a young, handsome, and very obviously gay man asked his brother for his permission to take a selfie of them together.

He refrained from saying anything but excused himself to Sherlock to go to the bathroom. After using the toilet, he stared at his mirror image. Finally his face was looking as it always had, the bruises had disappeared. But that didn’t mean he liked what he saw any better. He hated his thinning hair and he’d always had a complex because of his nose. He knew he looked average at best, and he wondered how long it would take Sherlock to give into the advances of really attractive, young men like this one. He sighed deeply. It had not been his day at all…

He decided to pay their bill before going out again. Who knew how quickly he would have to return to the office. When he had reached their table, Sherlock was alone again and looked at him thoughtfully. “You know, Mycie, I’m thinking about shaving my curls off. What do you think?”

“Oh Sherlock, why would you do that? They are so beautiful. I like to play with them when we kiss… or when you suck me…” He made sure his voice was so quiet that only Sherlock could hear him.

“I see. But would you still find me attractive if I did it?”

“Of course I would. I would find you attractive with green hair or just one huge eye in the middle of your forehead.”

“And why is that so?”

“Why? Because I love you and… Oh…” Mycroft broke off and smiled wryly. “But that’s something different. You are…”

“Do you know what I was thinking of when that guy approached me?”

“No.”

“Then I’ll tell you. I was thinking of what we did yesterday evening. Do you remember how I used that dildo on you and then licked it off?”

“Oh yes…” That had been so very naughty and so hot.

“And then I thought how much I liked to do that, and how disgusting it would be for me to even imagine doing it with anybody else. Because I love you, Mycie, because you are the most handsome, most exciting, and the sexiest man in the world to me. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for you, or with you, and really, all other people out there could just implode and I wouldn’t give a fuck. Nobody counts for me except you. We’re living in a time where every stupid arse can be a celebrity and unfortunately I am sort of that… A celebrity, not a stupid arse! I didn’t ask for it but I don’t fret over it because that wouldn’t change anything. Sometimes people approach me, and I look into a camera and smile and then they go and I don’t have to forget them because I didn’t notice them in the first place. I simply don’t care about anybody else other than you. Get used to that, Mycie, it won’t change. Neither today nor tomorrow, nor in ten years and nor when I’m a toothless, old man sitting in a wheelchair. I want you and nobody else.”

Mycroft didn’t know what to say to this passionate monologue. He was feeling light and happy and silly. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry. You shouldn’t feel obliged to compliment me like that all the time because of my insecurities.”

“I compliment you because you deserve it. Why you should be insecure about anything, is beyond me.”

Mycroft could have told him one or two reasons but he was saved by his phone which chirped with a message. He sighed. “It’s the office. I need to go back.”

“Of course.” Sherlock got up. “Thank you for taking the time to come here with me.”

“Sherlock, you asked me to come here to make me feel better.”

“So we are both selfless, nice men.”

“Of course.” They made their way back to Mycroft’s office. Mycroft could see that Sherlock was very reluctant to leave him.

“I won’t be late today. Perhaps we could order some food from this friend of yours, Angelo?”

“Good idea. I will take care of that. Is there anything special you would like to do?”

“Sherlock, you are spoiling me.”

“And I love to do that. So?”

“Well, there’s a little fantasy of mine…”

“Tell me!”

“I would like to be blindfolded and, you know, caressed.”

“That sounds very good to me. Exactly what I would have prescribed today. Except that it surprises me that you would want to give up control like that.”

“Only for you, Sherlock. I love you.”

“And I love you. Don’t you ever forget that!”

“I won’t. I promise. But Sherlock…”

“Yes?”

“You wouldn’t do that, would you?”

“Do what?”

“Shave off your wonderful curls?”

Sherlock hesitated for a moment. “Perhaps I will one day, if I’m lucky. Goodbye for now, darling. Text me when you’re finished so I can take care of our dinner.”

“I will.” They kissed each other goodbye with their eyes only. And Mycroft wondered what Sherlock had meant with his cryptic reply. His expression had changed in that moment. Mycroft shrugged and went back into the office even though he would have rather walked off with his lover, hand in hand.

*****

Sherlock had finished the preparations for a nice, sensual, Mycie-spoiling evening. After Mycroft had texted him to let him know that he would leave the office in half an hour, he had bought two delicious meals at Angelo’s and prepared the table in the living room with candles and wine. He had taken a long shower and shaved perfectly to look as good for his lover as possible. After dressing in one of the suits Mycroft had bought for him, he sat down with a book in Mycroft’s armchair. But not long after he heard the key in the door and hurried to welcome his man.

“Hello, sunshine,” he greeted him and wrapped his arms around his neck. Mycroft smelled great and his face was shaven, obviously he had freshened up in his office bathroom for him.

Mycroft smiled and kissed him on the lips. “Sunshine, nice. I’m pretty sure I’ve never been called that.”

“Okay, then hello, _Prince of Darkness_. Come in, our meal is ready.”

“Wow, that looks very nice,” Mycroft said approvingly. “Thank you for your efforts, Sherlock.”

They sat down and Sherlock provided them both with red wine. He felt that Mycroft was doing much better than when they had parted, but he could sense some tension, certainly because he was not looking forward to meeting Eurus with their parents the next day. But Sherlock was determined to distract him from that as well as possible.

“That was really good,” Mycroft said when they had finished eating. They had not spoken much, but it had been a peaceful, joyful silence. He raised his eyebrows. “But I’m a bit disappointed.”

“You are? What was not to your liking?”

“You told me that you would be all over me when I'd come through the door to give me the blowjob you promised me.”

“But that was before we agreed to make your nice fantasy come true,” Sherlock reminded him with a smile.

“Oh yes, of course. Shall we go upstairs then?”

“You can’t wait, can you?” Sherlock got up and put the plates together.

“I think I really need that today,” Mycroft admitted to his surprise. “My afternoon was pretty stressful and I would very much like to be at your hands and… pampered.”

Sherlock offered him his hand. “Come upstairs with me then, my hard-working, country-serving, Queen-saving, little sex-addict.”

Mycroft took his hand and laughed. “Sex-addict, what? You are the one to talk!”

“That’s just your bad influence,” Sherlock assured him when they went upstairs.

“Oh, of course.”

A minute later Mycroft sat down on the bed and got rid of his shoes and socks while Sherlock undressed quickly as well. “What will you use to blindfold me?”

“A scarf of course.” He took it from the nightstand where he had placed it next to the lube and another utensil. “But I thought blindfolding is not really enough to create the right atmosphere so I think I will also apply these to you.” He showed Mycroft a pair of handcuffs.

Mycroft laughed out loud. “They look real. Let me guess, Lestrade?” He stood up to take off the rest of his clothes and Sherlock’s mouth started to water.

“Of course.”

“Did he give them to you voluntarily?”

“Of course not. He doesn’t need them anyway, he never arrests anyone… Unfortunately it’s not possible to chain them to your bed, so I’d suggest you just keep your bound hands above your head.”

“Yes, my bed doesn’t allow that.” He sat down on it and swung his long legs up.

“It’s the only modern piece of furniture in your house, and I do appreciate that, don’t get me wrong, but in this case it’s a shame.”

“It’s really a very old-fashioned house, isn’t it?” Mycroft seemed to notice only in this moment. Sherlock knew he hadn’t changed much about the house when he had inherited it after Uncle Rudi’s death.

“Just like you, Mycie; expensive, beautiful, over-accurate, distinguished, neat, generous, and old-fashioned,” Sherlock replied with a grin.

“Well, that was a bundle of compliments and insults I’ll have to think through.”

“You can do that while I’m shackling and blinding you,” Sherlock suggested and swung the handcuffs in one hand and the scarf in the other one.

“Don’t blind me, Sherlock, that wasn’t part of my fantasy.”

“Oh, good that you mention it. I’ll put the scissors away then.”

Mycroft chuckled. “You will enjoy that, won’t you? Seeing me all helpless and devoted and breathlessly awaiting your caresses?”

“I definitely will.” Sherlock joined him on the bed. “And I think it’s amazing that you trust me like that, you know, giving in to be at my hands.”

“Of course I trust you, Sherlock. Who else if not you?” Mycroft looked at him with those incredibly beautiful, blue eyes, and Sherlock leaned over for a kiss that soon became very passionate. He was hard already and so was Mycroft. Finally Mycroft broke the kiss and offered Sherlock his hands. “Now go on, Master Sherlock. Make me your defenceless love toy.”

“My God, what would all your colleagues think if they heard that?” Sherlock put the handcuffs around his wrists.

“Luckily enough, they don’t. Oh, Sherlock, you do have the key for them, don’t you?”

Sherlock closed the handcuffs. “Key? What key?” He saw Mycroft’s eyes widen and chuckled. “Of course I do. Don’t worry. Just switch off your brain for now. It will get dark now.” He slung the scarf around his brother’s eyes and knotted it on the side so it wouldn’t hurt him when he lay down. He softly pressed him into the pillows. “Rest your head, and put your hands behind it, there you go. Just relax now.”

He drew back and admired the sight of his lover, completely naked except for his scarf around his eyes and the shining handcuffs, which rattled quietly when he moved. He scanned the gorgeous body presented to him so tastily, the big, pink nipples, almost hidden in his chest hair, the hair in his armpits, the visible ribs, the flat belly covered in more dark hair and his long, thick cock, lying half-hard on his stomach.

“What are you doing, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked with a raspy voice, and Sherlock realised he really couldn’t _see_.

“Just admiring you for a moment, Mycie. You’re so beautiful that I could just eat you up.”

He saw him smile. “Cannibalism is also not part of my fantasy.”

“What a shame. You are missing out.” He leaned forward and carefully licked over Mycroft’s upper lip. “Tell me now, Mycie, what do you want me to do to you?”

“You know what I want.”

“No, tell me. Tell me exactly what I shall do to make you feel great. Order me.”

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Alright. I want you to… kiss me… lick my nipples… lick my… no, forget that…”

“Tell me, Mycie, and remember, I’ll do whatever you want, and of course I’ll want it, too. Where would you like to be licked?” Sherlock felt his arousal increase by just playing that little game.

“My… armpits, my belly, my thighs, and of course, my cock and balls. And I want you to fuck me.”

“See, that was easy. I will do all that, but you’ll keep your hands where they are, don’t try to touch me. It’s all about you now.”

“You like that, don’t you?”

“Very much.”

And then Sherlock went to work. He started with a tender kiss on Mycroft’s mouth; their tongues tangled for about five minutes while he was rubbing his nipples, drawing invisible signs on his sides, carefully avoiding tickling him. Then he kissed down on his throat, let his tongue play with the left nipple, then with the right one. He pulled on the chest hair with his lips, then licked up to the right armpit and kissed and licked in circles in it. All the time he was being rewarded by whispered words of love, moans and heavy breathing from his lover. It was obvious that Mycroft enjoyed his caresses very much but had to force himself to not bring his bound hands down to try and touch him.

Sherlock let his tongue trace down the line of hair from his navel down to his pubes, softly breathed over the shiny, wet head of his fully erect cock, but not touching it for now. Instead he spread Mycroft’s thighs and lapped on the insides of both of them, then spit onto his round, firm balls and licked up the saliva.

“Oh God, Sherlock, you are driving me crazy!” Mycroft’s voice was hoarse and almost desperate. He had started to sweat and goosebumps were showing on his sides.

“Good, then I’m reaching my goal,” Sherlock teased him and playfully pulled on his ballsack, then he held it to one side while he let one finger poke at his hole and slid the tip that he had wet with his spit into it. “That wasn’t on your list, Mycie, shall I stop?”

“I dare you,” Mycroft hissed, and he smiled. He took one of the spare pillows and urged Mycroft to lift his arse to place it under him.

“Is that comfortable for you?”

“Of course. Will you fuck me now?”

“Not yet.” He bent over again and sucked Mycroft’s balls into his mouth, his spit running down on them, wetting his entrance, which was his next hit to lick. It was difficult to put his tongue in it, but he eventually succeeded.

Mycroft moaned loudly and rattled with the handcuffs again. “Sherlock, please, take me now! I need you in me, now!”

Sherlock felt that it was indeed time for that if he didn’t want either or both of them to come right now. He lubed up his cock and Mycroft’s hole and slowly breached in. He rested on his hands beside Mycroft’s head and took him with careful strokes. But he stopped when Mycroft asked him to take off the handcuffs to be able to touch him. “But the key is in Baker Street, I hope it didn’t melt when it exploded…”

“What? Sherlock!”

The detective grinned and reached for the drawer. He hurried to open the handcuffs and untied the scarf. Mycroft looked at him with eyes full of arousal and hunger and his hands reached to finally touch Sherlock. Sherlock let himself sack on his body and enjoyed being pulled tight and held. After kissing for a long time, Sherlock went at it seriously. Hearing his groin clash against Mycroft’s cheeks and feeling himself buried in his incredibly tight heat, pushed him over the edge much too soon. He emptied his seed into his lover’s body and while still inside him, he stroked him to his climax and completed their encounter by licking Mycroft’s semen from his stomach.

*****

They decided to return to bed after showering together, and Mycroft asked Sherlock if he minded watching an old spy movie with him on the telly in the bedroom. Sherlock didn’t really pay attention to what was happening in the story; he was content with being so close to his lover - his head resting on his chest, Mycroft’s arms wrapped around him, breathing him in, feeling his warm body, rubbing his chest hairs from time to time or examine a delicate nipple with his thumb or lick over a collarbone. Whenever he made contact like that, Mycroft would kiss his forehead or stroke over his hair or his back. Sherlock didn’t really believe in an afterlife, but if it existed, he hoped for him it would be like that, being so intimate and tender with the man beneath him for eternity.

When he couldn’t ignore a certain urge anymore, he climbed out of the bed. “Will be back in a minute.” He used the toilet and decided to have a quick look at his phone that he had switched off before Mycroft had come home. He entered the living room and grabbed it. He grimaced when he saw that John had texted him a few times, and then he discovered a message from Mrs Hudson, and he knew what it contained before he even read it. He tried to keep a straight face when he returned to the bedroom after turning the phone off again and throwing it on the table of the living room - suppressing the wish to smash it against the wall instead. But of course it was pointless. After one short look at his face Mycroft turned off the movie.

“Bad news?”

“You know, sometimes I wonder how it would be to be with somebody who can’t read my mind.”

“Bad news indeed then.”

“I’m sorry, Mycie.” Sherlock climbed back into the bed. “Didn’t mean to be snappish at you.”

“That’s alright. Come here, honey. What happened?”

Sherlock snuggled against him and buried his face at his throat. “Just checked my phone. Mrs Hudson,” he mumbled.

“Oh, I see.” He pressed Sherlock close against him and kissed his temple.

For a moment nobody said a word. “Well, we knew that would happen eventually, Sherlock.”

“Yes, but why so soon?”

“Did she explain it to you?”

“Yes. The company told her if she doesn’t let them take up the work on Monday, they’ll have to cancel the contract, and they made her a special price so she wants to stick with them.”

“Well, that’s understandable. Also, postponing it even more will make John get suspicious. And it will still take some time until you have to move in, Sherlock.”

“I don’t want to at all…” Sherlock knew he was sounding like a spoilt child again, but he didn’t care. He felt bitter and sad and hopeless and he hated that.

“I know, and I don’t want that either. But I’m afraid you'll have to. And it’s not the end of anything, honey, you know that. We will make it work and we will meet up every day.”

Sherlock nodded. He didn’t see any point in discussing this matter again. The sheer thought of not being able to spend the nights with Mycroft anymore, to be forced to steal short moments of closeness, to miss him not only during the day but also in the night - it made him feel physically sick. He just couldn’t help it, and nothing that Mycroft could say would make it any better.

Mycroft seemed to know exactly how he was feeling again. “I know you don’t want to talk about it anymore, and I know I won’t convince you. But once and for all I want to tell you that it will work, because I love you and I know you love me, and nothing in this world will keep me from making you happy. And now, since talking is not an option, what would you like to do instead?”

Sherlock closed his eyes and felt a tear running down his cheek. “Just hold me, Mycie, and make love to me if you can.”

“If I can?” Mycroft pulled his face closer and licked away the tear. “Don’t be sad, Sherlock, please.” He turned off the light, and then he stroked his face and leaned over to plunder Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock clung to him as if he was drowning, and that was how he was feeling. More tears escaped his eyes while they were kissing more and more passionately, and he felt his cock harden against his lover’s body despite his desperation. He spit on his hand and grabbed for Mycroft’s stiffening length and pulled on it until it was fully hard and heavy in his hand and Mycroft was moaning into his mouth, and then he broke the kiss and turned around in his arms, pressing his arse against his erection, feeling the wetness on the head, and he moved backwards and just pressed it into his passage, leading Mycroft to take a sharp breath.

“Don’t, Sherlock, I will hurt you!”

But he didn’t care and grabbed Mycroft’s hip to make him stay in place and pressed even harder to make him fill him up completely. It was indeed very painful and against his will he gasped.

“Wait just a second,” Mycroft asked him, “I need to make it slide better.” He pulled his cock out of him but it was replaced at once by his fingers that were rubbing cold lube into it. Sherlock buried his head into the pillow, enjoying the cool, wet massage, and then Mycroft shoved his cock into him again and started moving slowly in him, holding him tight, touching his throbbing dick, whispering words of love and assurance in his ear. Sherlock was moving his hips in the same rhythm, embracing the pain and the sweetness and the closeness and all the time he was still crying without making a noise.


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This long chapter contains a lot of very explicit smut as well as pure angst

Mycroft looked thoughtfully at his brother while the helicopter was bringing them back to London. Sherlock was sitting opposite of him, quiet and stone-faced. Mycroft was amazed how unforgiving Sherlock was towards their parents, who were sitting next to him. Their faces were still wet from crying; seeing her daughter again after all these years - realising what she had become and why she had to be locked away - and not being able to make a physical connection with her, had been extremely emotional for them. Probably especially because there had not been any emotion or even a single word coming from Eurus, just as Mycroft had expected and predicted. And now they were searching for Sherlock’s comfort only to get none - he answered briefly when they talked to him but made no attempt to keep up the conversation, and most of the time he kept his eyes closed. He ignored Mycroft as well, and he hoped it was just because of the presence of their parents…

In Sherrinford, Mycroft had listened - sitting together with his mother and father - to Sherlock playing a duet with Eurus on the violin, and he’d been happily surprised when his mother had taken his hand, obviously forgiving him what he had done. But Sherlock’s music had made his heart heavy. He could tell from how he was playing that he was still sad and disturbed like he had been the night before. That he was so upset about their parents didn’t help either, and Mycroft hated to see him like that. There wasn’t much he could do about Sherlock’s feelings towards their parents except hoping that he - when he realised they were not bearing Mycroft any ill will anymore - would forgive them. Regarding the problem of being together once he’d move back to Baker Street, all he could do was show him his love and work hard to get his staff trained to work as perfectly as he did so he could delegate more delicate matters to them. The Prime Minister had already complained about him not being in the office in the evenings anymore, but he had let him know he was having some health issues that required more rest. It had not been easy for him to say that, as admitting a weakness (that above all didn’t even exist) was not to his liking. But with their relationship being so important to him, and Sherlock being so insecure about how much he meant to him, he didn’t have any choice than to make much more time that he could spend with him. And of course he wanted to be with Sherlock as much as possible.

When the music had stopped and Sherlock had put his violin away, Mycroft had gone to the glass wall and had looked into Eurus’ eyes, and she had met his gaze with this indifferent smile that was typical for her. He had remembered everything that had happened - the terrible scenes with the governor and the three brothers, thinking Sherlock would kill him and then himself, and waking up in this cell and being made to think Sherlock was dead. But he realised that he didn’t hate her. He had locked her away to protect the world from her and he had taken care of providing her with everything that was possible in this situation. But he couldn’t really blame her for hating him for taking away her freedom. He knew now that _he_ was feeling no hatred, only resignation and gratitude that she was locked away again and could do no harm to anybody anymore, especially not to Sherlock. He had not said anything to her; there was nothing to say and it would have been pointless anyway. He had watched their parents trying to talk to her, but she had only continued smiling until they had given up.

“Is there nothing we can do?” his mother asked now with a pressed voice.

He shook his head. “I don’t see what - except to visit her again and show her your affection. I don’t suppose she will ever react to it, but who knows. Just let me know when you want to visit her as it has to be arranged.”

“And if she needs anything?”

“She can contact the staff anytime and they will get it for her or ask me if it’s something unusual. She isn’t missing anything except for her freedom.”

“Sherlock, will you go on seeing her and play with her?”

“Yes,” was Sherlock’s laconic reply.

Mycroft looked over to him and Sherlock caught his gaze and gave him a little wink; this small gesture made his heart lighter at once.

They stayed quiet until the helicopter had landed. There were two cars waiting, one for their parents and one for the brothers. Sherlock bid the older Holmes goodbye with a nod and a short wave of his hand and climbed into the car.

“Why is he so cruel to us?” his mother asked Mycroft almost shyly.

“Because he thinks you were cruel to me yesterday,” he answered honestly and froze. Probably it was not the best idea to be honest to their parents anymore…”But of course I totally understand your anger,” he hurried to assure her. “It wasn’t right to tell you she was dead.”

“Oh Mycie, I know you did your best, just like Sherlock said. We shouldn’t have given you such a hard time yesterday. I love you all, my boys and my girl, no matter what.”

“I will let him know, Mummy. I’ll have to go back to the office now, so have a safe trip home.” He shook his father’s hand and hugged his mother quickly.

He watched them get into their car and joined Sherlock. Of course he wasn’t going to go to the office. He told the driver to bring them home, and after closing the privacy screen, he pulled Sherlock close. “She apologised to me,” he informed him.

“Good. That was more than overdue. It surprises me that she got it so fast…” His voice sounded despicable, and it made him shudder.

“Sherlock. Don’t be so hard on them.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “You know, I think we had more than enough _family time_ for today, so if we could just change the subject?” he said rather coldly and Mycroft cringed.

“Okay, if you don’t want to spend any more time with your family, I can drop you off wherever you wish.” He had hardly spoken out the last word when he felt the blood disappearing from his face, and he shuddered with regret. “Oh God, sorry, honey, that was meant to be a joke but it came out completely wrong!”

Sherlock stared at him in disbelief, and to his devastation, Mycroft saw tears flooding his eyes. Right then the car stopped - probably at a red light - and Sherlock opened the door and headed out without a word.

“Sherlock, come back!” he shouted, but the door was slammed shut and he realised he couldn’t get out of the car himself as it would just lead to a scene nobody should witness, and probably his brother had already run away. He fumbled his phone out and texted Sherlock.

_Baby, please, I’m so sorry, I meant nothing by that, come home please! MH_

He knew it wouldn’t work now - he had hurt him too much. And deep inside he also knew it had not really been just a joke but a very late, bitter reaction to the way Sherlock had rejected and excluded him all his adult life and had made him suffer immensely by that. And that Sherlock had just spoken so contemptuously about their family, had somehow touched this memory and made him feel as if these times were back. And nobody had to tell him how stupid that was after all that had happened the last couple of days - after getting so close and after Sherlock had told him that he’d loved him for exactly as long as Mycroft had loved him. He buried his face in his hands when the car drove off, and he felt tears coming to his eyes as well.

He didn’t notice that the car had stopped until the driver opened the door. “We’ve arrived, sir. Is everything alright?” He looked around, obviously looking for the second passenger, whose disappearance he had apparently not even noticed.

Mycroft got out on weak legs. “Yes, thank you. You can return now.” He slowly made his way to the door, his heart racing and his hands as cold as ice. There was a tiny hope in him that Sherlock would be already there - waiting for him - but of course he wasn’t.

An hour later he was still sitting in in his armchair with a huge drink in his hand, his head spinning, his heart aching like never before. _I can’t have lost him…_

He had texted his brother at least ten times, had tried to call him, but he hadn’t answered to any of it. If he’d had any idea where to find him, he would have gone searching for him. _You know where he is: look for him in every crack den in London… No, please…_

The tears were falling freely from his eyes now and all at once he threw his glass against the wall next to the door that opened in this moment.

“Amazing that you’re throwing things at me before I even had the chance to apologise,” Sherlock said with a wry smile and entered the room, carefully avoiding stepping on the splinters.

“Oh Sherlock, you’re here!” Mycroft came to his feet, feeling as relieved as never before. “Why should you apologise, I have to, I…”

“You already have, and I reacted childishly and resentfully.”

They met halfway and Mycroft pulled him in a close embrace, his lips finding Sherlock’s, and they kissed in a way that could only be called desperate. Mycroft felt he was still crying, this time of relief, and he tried not to show it but of course Sherlock noticed.

“Mycie, I’m so very sorry; I shouldn’t have run away. It’s not your fault that I don’t understand your jokes.” He wiped the tears from Mycroft’s face and kissed him again very softly.

“I meant it to be a joke about me being family as well, but it was more than that,” Mycroft admitted and drew Sherlock to the couch where he sat down with his brother on his thighs. “I want to be honest with you, I always want to, so I have to tell you…”

“You don’t, darling, I know it. Mrs Hudson explained it to me.”

“Oh, that is where you went.” Mycroft knew he could have felt betrayed by Sherlock running to his landlady and telling her about it, but in fact he internally thanked the old lady and decided to send her flowers for making Sherlock forgive him and come back to him.

“What I said reminded you of the bad, old times when I rejected you all, our parents and you. And I rejected them again today and you were afraid I meant you, too. But of course I didn’t,” Sherlock explained, hugging him tight.

“No, of course not, I should have known that, and I have, but…”

“People are strange.”

“Sorry what?”

“Oh nothing, just an old song that just came to my mind. The Doors, you know.”

Mycroft thought about that for a moment, and then he nodded. “Yes, that's right; sometimes people _are_ strange.” He kissed Sherlock’s thick curls and enjoyed the tight embrace his brother was giving him.

“Mycie, I want you to know that of course you are family but… I don’t feel as if you still were...”

Mycroft tensed and Sherlock noticed at once. “No, listen, family - this was always an obligation, something I couldn’t avoid. Family meant people that demanded from me to behave in a certain way that I could never deliver, people who expected me to make them happy and proud or whatever, and I didn't want that. And as much as I longed for you, you were part of that - always trying to save me and to make me be a better person. I knew I could never live up to your expectations, and I thought that I could never have you the way I wanted, and it hurt so much to see you so displeased with me, so I had to push you away and reject you. I’ve never meant to hurt you; I just meant to save myself from more pain.”

Mycroft looked at him, feeling as if Sherlock had punched him. “I’ve never wanted to make you feel like that, Sherlock, I’ve always wanted you to be happy; I was so worried and… I’m so sorry, I should have realised your feelings for me, I…” He felt tears appearing in his eyes again, and Sherlock kissed him tenderly.

“Don’t, Mycie, I know all that, it’s in the past now. I didn’t say that to make you feel guilty. There’s nothing you have to be sorry for. I just want to explain how this has changed. I know that by blood, you’ll always be my brother, but you are so much more than that now. I don’t know if I can put it in words that make sense, but my heart says you are not _family_ anymore. Family, that’s _them_ , our parents and Eurus and our crazy relatives; they are the obligations, the people you have to accept because you don’t have a choice. But you, you are the person I chose to be the one that matters. You’re my best friend, my lover, my… _husband_ , my _everything_. And the way I behaved today to our mother and father - it was because they treated you like shit yesterday, and don’t say they didn’t because I was there, and listen, Mycie - nobody can be allowed to do that! I’ve always been the disappointment for them, and you were the perfect son, and they can’t be like that to you now just because you did what you thought was the best for them. And it was. It’s nice that our mother has apologised and that you can forgive her, but I can’t and I don’t even want to. I feel as if…” He broke off, searching for words all at once.

“You are feeling as if it’s just you and me against the rest of the world,” Mycroft said, his head dizzy from the amazing things Sherlock had just told him.

“Yes, that sums it up perfectly.” Sherlock softly kissed his eyebrow. “And I know that sounds childish and I can’t ignore them forever but… you are the one that counts. The _only one_ that counts. You are everything to me. And when you said you would drop me off if I wanted to, I felt my whole world crumble…”

Mycroft felt as if his heart was overflowing with both love and regret. “I’m so sorry that I made you feel bad, and you’re not being childish, you’re just being protective and you care for me so much, and it makes me feel great that you do. I love you so much, Sherlock, and you also mean everything to me. I’ve never meant to make you feel dismissed like I did today. And we won’t let anyone or anything come between us anymore, I promise you. Not my work, not our parents, not Eurus, or whatever is going to put obstacles in our way.”

“No, we won’t,” Sherlock agreed. “And I’m very sorry I ignored your texts and your calls; I should have known better by now. But I guess that the demons of our past are not so easily shaken off.”

“No, probably not. But if they show up the next time, I will throw something at _them_.”

“You could ask Eurus if she has some more of those grenades.”

They both grinned. Then Sherlock kissed him once more. “I want to go upstairs now and not leave the bedroom anymore until tomorrow, except for a snack and a pee. Is that agreeable to you?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I love the new Mycroft, the swearing, naughty, obscene, perverse sex-addict you’ve become!”

“And all this thanks to you, honey. Now let’s go and let me show you that I am everything you just called me!”

“I can’t wait!”

*****

They had not quite reached the steps, hand in hand, with Sherlock being completely determined to make this afternoon the most memorable in Mycroft’s life (while needing that as much as he did), when the doorbell rang.

Mycroft sighed deeply. “Let’s hope there is no international crisis that I’ve missed.”

“No, I know who that is,” Sherlock said with a grimace.

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “You can deduce that from the sound of the doorbell? I’m really impressed, Mr Detective!”

“No, I can because I’ve been ignoring someone’s texts since yesterday.” He felt guilty at once because he had just done the same with Mycroft.

But Mycroft just smiled. “John?”

“John.”

“Of course - it will be about the flat. He might be here to ask you if you still want him to move in with you.” Sherlock opened his eyes widely but Mycroft shook his head. “As tempting as that is, honey, you can’t say no - for more than one reason.”

It was Sherlock’s turn to sigh. He knew it of course. To keep up the façade, avoid John’s suspicion, and continue their working together properly for example.

“Wait in the living room, Sherlock, while I let him in,” Mycroft softly said when the doorbell shrilled again. Sherlock nodded and returned to cuddle up in Mycroft’s armchair. He was still shivering internally from what had happened earlier, and he swore to himself to never treat Mycroft like that again. He was the one to talk - complaining about their parents…

“Dr Watson, what a surprise,” he heard his man say, and smiled. _I just love him so much…_

“Mycroft, please, call me John, would you? Is Sherlock around?”

“He is in fact. Come this way, _John_.”

John smiled at him rather cautiously when he entered the room. “Hi Sherlock, I’ve tried to reach you but…”

“I know, I… What is it about?” Sherlock avoided an answer.

“Not sure if you know it already: the company will finally return on Monday to build up the flat!”

“Well, yes, I know.” Sherlock tried not to sound too depressed about it but the encouraging smile in Mycroft’s face told him he wasn’t hiding it too well…

“And…” John stopped and looked over to Mycroft, who raised an eyebrow. “Sherlock, I’m not sure if you want to talk about that now…”

“There’s nothing…” Sherlock started to flare, but forced himself to calm down immediately. “It’s fine, John, I’ve got nothing to hide from my… brother.” He realised he really _hated_ to call Mycroft his _brother_.

“Right, I just wanted to ask if you’re still okay with me and Rosie moving in with you. Because, you know… and I’ll need to know because the company could make some amendments on my room for Rosie.”

 _No, I’m not okay with it!_ Sherlock tried not to speak through gritted teeth. “I don’t see why there should be a problem, John. I should have thought of that myself.”

John beamed at him. “That’s great! See, you will get rid of him soon, Mycroft!”

Sherlock wanted to scream, but he just balled his hands into fists and bit his lip.

“Well, John, I wouldn’t say I’m dying to get rid of him. But I’m sure he will be happy to return to his home and have his own space again.” Sherlock thought that Mycie didn’t sound too convincing, either… And somehow that made him happy.

“Of course not, you… Mycroft, is everything _alright_ with you?” John asked at once, and Sherlock narrowed his eyes. But then he realised that his lover was indeed looking rather shaken. His hair was tousled, his eyes still a little red from crying, and he was pale. The guilt that Sherlock felt almost burst his heart in two.

“Well, I…” Mycroft gave him a haunted look, and Sherlock forced himself to switch on his brain.

“We just came back from Sherrinford, John. And he saw Eurus for the first time after… you know… It was not easy for him.” He looked over to Mycroft and received a grateful look.

“Oh, of course. Perhaps we should leave you alone for a while, Mycroft? Sherlock could come over to my place and have a chat?”

Sherlock stiffened but Mycroft shook his head, obviously having his self-control back. “That’s very considerate of you, John, but I was about to speak with my brother about some urgent family matters so I’d prefer if he stayed.”

“Sure, no worries. I'll see you on Monday then, Sherlock! Mycroft! Oh, I can let myself out. Bye bye!"

They said farewell to him and waited in silence until they heard the front door open and shut. Their eyes were locked, and as soon as he was sure that John was gone, Sherlock got up and threw himself into Mycroft’s arms. He enjoyed the tight embrace his lover was giving him, and clung to him, but he wasn’t able to say a word.

“Let’s go upstairs now,” Mycroft whispered in his ear. “I think we both need that now.”

Sherlock nodded and took a deep breath. Time to shake off feeling bad about things he couldn’t change. Whatever was going to happen, they would deal with it. And now it was all about cherishing the moment with his man.

This time it wasn’t the doorbell but Mycroft’s phone that interfered with their plan. “Work again, I’m sorry, I should have put it off,” Mycroft said with a sheepish smile.

“No worries,” Sherlock assured him, “you take the call and I’ll go have a quick shower, and if you want that, too, I will use the time to prepare a few things.”

“That sounds good, thank you darling. Good afternoon, sir, what can I do for you? Any more _emergencies_?” _PM_ , he mouthed in Sherlock’s direction.

Sherlock grinned over the sarcasm in his voice and headed upstairs to the bathroom. He was glad to wash off the sticky feeling he always had after visiting Sherrinford and felt he was in need of a shave as well. He wanted a face as smooth as possible for pleasing his lover. After taking care of that and brushing his teeth, he took two huge bath towels from the wardrobe and - completely naked - he went to the bedroom where he met Mycroft. He was still on the phone with a face that showed every nuance of exasperation and annoyance, and Sherlock was afraid his pupils would disappear forever by his extended eye-rolling. He winked at him to cheer him up and earned a smile, a peck on the mouth and a quick pull at his cock, which was already enough to make him get hard instantly. He saw Mycroft looking curiously at the towels and raise his eyebrows, but he just smiled and put them over the blanket to cover it completely. He heard Mycroft ending the call rather hastily and sighing deeply after finally getting rid of the man.

“He’s driving me crazy; if it was anything important, I wouldn’t complain, but as usual it wasn’t. What are you doing with those towels, Sherlock?” he asked while he was switching his phone off.

“Just a little preparation for spoiling you, love.”

“I’m such a lucky man,” Mycroft cooed. “I will have a quick shower now and then I’ll be at your hands.”

“Kiss!” Sherlock demanded when he turned to the bathroom.

“Oh, of course.”

Their kissing was sweet and tender and very long. Sherlock could see that Mycroft was reluctant to break it at all, but he shushed him into the bathroom because as much as he loved kissing him, he had even more appealing plans for this afternoon. From his part of the wardrobe he took a bottle of very deliciously smelling massage oil and a vibrating anal plug with an adhered cock ring; he had it bought two days ago but had wanted to wait for a special occasion in their already so special sex life. And he felt that today was the day for it…

Mycroft came back in no time but was nevertheless eagerly awaited by Sherlock; he was also naked, freshly shaven and smelling divine. He didn’t resemble the man anymore that had John worrying about him just twenty minutes ago, and his sexiness and his beautiful body made Sherlock’s heart and cock jump.

Mycroft made wide eyes when he saw the items on the nightstand, and his member jumped to attention at once. “Wow, Sherlock, that looks very _stimulating_. So who’s going to wear that naughty-looking little helper?”

“I thought I’d ask the PM over to have this pleasure while mounting you,” Sherlock teased him.

“My God, you know how to turn off a man,” Mycroft said with a shudder, but the state of his cock didn’t really go along with this claim.

Sherlock chuckled. “You may be missing out, honey.”

“I’m absolutely sure that I’m not. He’d just talk and talk and forget to thrust at all. Instead of putting the plug into his arse, you’d have to set fire to it to make him move.”

Sherlock laughed about that picture and weighed the bottle in his hand playfully. “I thought I could give you a nice massage with this fancy orange oil - hence the towels. And then you could have me like you described your preferred sex fantasy while wearing the plug. It vibrates by the way...”

Mycroft swallowed hard. “You mean, you on your knees and I taking you doggy style with some rattling toy inside of me?”

“Looks like I don’t turn you off with everything I say,” Sherlock teased him with a wink and a pointed look at Mycroft twitching cock.

“No you don’t. Thank you, honey.”

“For what?” Sherlock said hoarsely and they moved towards each other and met for more kissing, their growing erections rubbing against each other.

“For just being as you are. You make me so happy,” Mycroft whispered between kisses.

“You’re saying that today of all days?” He knew damn well that this declaration was much more than he deserved after the hurt he had caused his man by reacting so hard to something he should have known had resulted only from Mycroft being as insecure as he was.

“Every day, Sherlock. No matter what happens, it’s a dream come true to be with you, and going through some more difficult times is not going to change that in the least. Working that out will only bring us closer together. I love you so much.”

Sherlock felt his eyes getting wet and he clung to Mycroft’s neck, pressing him as tight as possible and softly pulling at his earlobe with his lips. "I love you more,” he whispered back and enjoyed the strong arms around him.

“That’s not possible, Sherlock, that’s simply not possible.”

*****

Mycroft climbed on the bed and placed himself flat on his stomach - as flat as possible with a more than semi-erect dick. Sherlock asked him if he should warm up the massage fluid with his hands before using it on him, but it was a warm summer day and he was happy with it just being applied as it was. He felt the cool oil dripping onto his back, and then Sherlock started massaging him with his huge and strong hands, paying special attention to the hard muscles in his neck.

Mycroft closed his eyes and just enjoyed the careful pressure, the touches and being pampered like that by the man he loved. He moaned when Sherlock rubbed his erection on his leg, and it took a lot of self-control to not turn around and just take him, but he was happy to give into the sensual foreplay. Feeling Sherlock’s hands sliding down on the sides of his body and the inside of his thighs made him shudder, and when he started massaging his buttocks it got very difficult to keep lying on his stomach. That didn’t get any easier when Sherlock spread his legs widely and he felt his tongue circling around his puckered hole and eventually penetrating it. “Sherlock, if you want me to take you, you should stop doing that because I’m going to shoot my load right on these towels if you keep going,” he warned his lover.

The detective made an agreeable noise but nonetheless continued licking and lapping at his hole, rubbing his smooth chin on his balls. Mycroft grabbed the towels and desperately tried to calm himself down. By chance he retreated into his mind palace, looking for something to distract him from the strong sensation, and he decided to visit his office. Lady Smallwood was looking at him with an expression of blame, and the ever-present PM was admonishing him to not forget the meeting with the Foreign Minister of Burundi on Monday. Hastily he returned to the real world - his erection a lot less throbbing than before. He felt Sherlock’s tongue disappear from his arse.

“What did you think about? The nasty two? Lady Wrinkle-Leg and the Poop Minister?”

“Dear God, do you have access to _my_ mind palace now?”

He heard his brother chuckle. “Not quite, but it wasn’t hard to guess. I just hope you’ll still be able to mount me now.”

“No worries, honey, all I have to do is to look at you to be as excited as before,” he assured him and turned around and got up into a sitting position. “But first I need to prepare you, and please don’t say it’s not necessary. I don’t want to hurt you again.” He thought of the night before when Sherlock had been so shaken and bitter that he had used Mycroft’s dick more or less as an instrument for punishing himself. Mycroft was still ashamed that he had been turned on nevertheless and had been able to make love to him. But he would not let that happen again.

“Do it, Mycie. Why don’t we use the plug for it?” Sherlock grabbed the toy from the nightstand. “Isn’t that hot? Using it for me first, and then for you?”

Mycroft swallowed. “Oh yes. But the cock ring is only for me I guess?”

“Oh, that wasn’t meant to be…”

“Of course, Sherlock, I’m just teasing you. I’ll love to try that out; I’ve never worn such a ring before. And you don’t need it as you will just be my willing, devoted, helpless and begging bottom boy this time.”

“ _Begging bottom boy_ , nice. I’ve never known you were also a poet.”

“You’ve woken up my creative side,” Mycroft declared and lubed the plug up with the massage oil. “Now turn around, get on your knees and show me your cute, little arse so I can put that in; you can already practice a little for later.”

Sherlock kneeled on either sides of his upper body, the legs spread widely, exposing his pink hole right before Mycroft’s eyes, the silky balls swinging seductively. Mycroft took a sharp breath. “My God, that looks so fucking hot.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I should hope so, I… Ohhh,” he moaned when Mycroft leaned forward and buried his face in his arse crack to lick and suck at his entrance, ignoring the dripping plug in his hand.

Mycroft knew he could do this for hours, lapping and tasting and sucking, but he was very keen on entering Sherlock with his again throbbing dick so after a last kiss on the swollen skin around Sherlock’s hole, he started opening him up with the plug.

It was tremendously exciting for him to watch the conically shaped toy disappear a little more inside Sherlock’s most intimate part with every thrust, stretching him more and more, rubbing over his prostate, and he increased the vibration more and more. He constantly assured himself that his lover was doing fine with this treatment, and after a couple of minutes the toy was buried in him completely up to the safety ring on the bottom. Sherlock was covered in sweat and shivering from excitement.

“My God, this is so unbelievable. I don’t think I can last much longer, enter me now, Mycie.”

But Mycroft made another decision. He reached around him and firmly masturbated his cock, and after mere seconds Sherlock’s seed shot all over Mycroft’s hand and legs.

“Fuck, why did you do that?” he mumbled, breathing hard.

“Because we both know you will be up and hard again in about two minutes, probably being able to do it longer then, and I’m so aroused myself that I’ll need a little break before we go on. I want it to last as long as possible for both of us.”

“Oh, I see, well, in this case…” Sherlock pinned his shoulders with his legs and inhaled his still hard cock to the root.

“No! Oooh…” Mycroft didn’t even have time to protest before he climaxed into Sherlock’s mouth. “That was… a mean thing to do,” he hissed when he was able to speak again, and Sherlock laughed. He was now lying next to Mycroft and put an arm around his shoulder.

“Oh Mycie, do you remember when we started having sex and you told me you need long breaks between our encounters? And now you’re ready again almost as fast as I am.”

“True,” Mycroft had to admit. “I think doing it regularly has given me this ability back.”

“I think you were just afraid in the beginning - afraid you wouldn’t get it up soon again and would disappoint me. Which was very silly of course. I’m sure you would have been hard for me again as fast as in the last couple of days, and even if you hadn’t have been, I would have never blamed you for that.”

Mycroft shook his head over himself. Sometimes people were not only strange but also blind. “It seems you know me better than I know myself. That was it of course. But anyway you make me feel young again and even if I didn’t have a million other reasons for it, I would love you just for that.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “You are still young, Mycie. You only never lived as if you were. But I hope you know now it’s never too late for that.” He leaned over and Mycroft gave him the demanded kiss.

He knew he would never get tired of kissing his beautiful brother, and tasting his own cum on his tongue made it even more thrilling. With every kiss he felt his soul merging more with Sherlock’s, and he gave into the wonderful feeling. This time Sherlock broke the kiss and let his full lips kiss traces down Mycroft’s chest, softly biting and pulling on his chest hair. To his own surprise, Mycroft had finally accepted that his huge amount of body hair not only wasn’t disgusting to Sherlock but in fact very erotic, and he loved to see Sherlock’s face buried in it. The detective moved lower and found his right nipple that he sucked and licked at with content moans.

“You like my tits, don’t you?” he asked hoarsely, and Sherlock put out his long tongue and let it circle around the swollen, pink flesh. “Love ‘em”, he mumbled and sucked so hard at it that Mycroft gasped with pleasure and pain. And he felt his cock twitching again; one look down on Sherlock’s body told him that his reaction was matched.

“Okay, honey, would you help me apply the toy?” he asked and stroked himself after squeezing some oil onto his hand, and Sherlock grabbed for the plug again.

“Shall I wash it off first?”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, it turns me on to know it was in your arse first; I want it as it is. Just lube it up again, please.” He got up on his knees and watched Sherlock carefully pull the black cock ring over his hard member. It was a very unusual feeling but also a very arousing one. He admired his long, thick dick looking even thicker and dark red, and he knew it would feel great to have Sherlock’s tight muscle close around it.

Sherlock reached between Mycroft’s legs to lead the plug part to his entrance, and he bent over and enjoyed the sensation of Sherlock rubbing his hole with lubed-up fingers and then the still silent plug. He relaxed his muscle as far as possible and welcomed the careful penetration of the toy. As he was used more than Sherlock to being penetrated (until the week before only with dildos; he had never bottomed for anyone except Sherlock) it wasn’t long before he felt the plug filling him up completely.

“Ready for the vibration?” Sherlock asked him and he nodded.

“Oh yes.” He felt all his muscles tense when the vibrating plug started to massage his prostate; the feeling was so intense that he knew he would have come right away if Sherlock had not made him climax so soon before.

“Is that okay? You need more power?”

“No, Sherlock, get on your knees, now,” he demanded, and Sherlock obeyed right away. Mycroft let some oil drip onto the crack of his arse, then he put his shivering hands on his round buttocks, pulled them apart and hungrily watched the fluid disappearing into the still open hole. He used his oily fingers to stretch it and lube it up even more and to just look into it. The sight of the glistening pink flesh inside of Sherlock’s body let him moan loudly and he hurried to bury himself in his lover.

Sherlock gave a loud moan himself and he stopped. “You okay?”

“It’s so good, go on, please, ride me,” Sherlock hissed, and he didn’t need more encouragement. He knew he had never been turned on like this in his life; it even surpassed the tremendously exciting sex they had shared the days before. The constant massage of his prostate by the still vibrating silicone intruder, the cock ring that increased his erection, and the hot, tight, wet passage his cock was thrusting into made his head spin, his heart beat fast, and his groin burned with a never-experienced pleasure. Sherlock was gasping, his back was bent and sweat was running down his spine. At each of Mycroft’s powerful thrusts he moaned, his arse was moving to Mycroft’s rhythm, and little drops of sweat were flying around at every clashing together of his red buttocks and Mycroft’s fast moving hips. Mycroft changed his thrusting angle a little to make sure to hit his lover’s prostate, and the increasingly loud moans showed him that he was successful. He closed his eyes and just gave into the stunning feeling of completion and love and power and an arousal beyond words.

It was Sherlock who had to surrender first; with a loud scream he shot his seed all over the crumpled towels again, and Mycroft followed him only seconds later, pumping his semen into Sherlock’s body. After pulling out the plug and switching it off and getting rid of the cock ring, he let himself sack next to Sherlock who was shivering and breathing hard.

After a moment of total exhaustion, Mycroft pulled Sherlock’s wet body into a chest-to-chest embrace. Both of them were sticky with sweat, and on Sherlock’s front it was mixed with his own semen and the oil. Even thinking of being in such a state would have killed Mycroft only two weeks ago, and now he just enjoyed feeling and smelling the remainders of their naughty play.

“That was…” He broke off as he just couldn’t put in words.

“Yes it was,” Sherlock agreed, and he realised he didn’t need any words to express what he was feeling, not with this unbelievable, brilliant, handsome, wonderful man in his arms. His lips searched for Sherlock’s, and they kissed tenderly and lovingly until both of them dozed off.

*****

Mycroft woke up from the growling of his own stomach. They had skipped lunch and he was starving. And totally sticky as he realised.

“Awake?” Sherlock mumbled. “Hungry?”

“Both of them. But I think we need a shower first, don’t we? What would you like to order for a late lunch?”

Sherlock rolled out of the bed and scratched his head. “Definitely need a shower. But you don’t have to bother with lunch - I bought something on my way here.”

“You did?” Mycroft was honestly surprised that he had thought of that in his shaken state of mind.

Sherlock removed the dirty towels and put them into the hamper in the bathroom. “Martha said I should feed you after making you so upset,” he explained when he returned. “I put it in the fridge before I came looking for you. I would have suggested eating it earlier, but somehow I thought of an even better way to make you happy.”

Mycroft smiled, again internally bowing to Mrs Hudson, who obviously always knew what to do. “And you totally succeeded. Let’s go.”

The shower made him wake up quickly and while he was washing his body, he admired Sherlock’s - the water was running over his muscular, sculpted frame, the muscles in his arms and thighs were working constantly, and when he sinfully bent over to reach down to his ankles - showing him his round arse - Mycroft felt his arousal coming back, and he would have loved to take him again at once. But then his stomach growled again and Sherlock turned to him and grinned.

“I think we should rather get out of here and get you something to eat before you bite some flesh out of my arse instead of poking it.”

Mycroft had to agree and they went to the kitchen. It seemed to him that Sherlock had plundered a deli to please him. He had bought several sorts of sandwiches, tuna salad, smoked salmon, stuffed vegetables and a big bowl of chocolate mousse.

They ate with great appetite until all sandwiches and most of the other stuff had disappeared, except for the dessert. Sherlock gave the latter a pointed look after finishing up the last cheese sandwich. “I wonder what we could do with that,” he teased with a wink.

“Eat it?” Mycroft replied with a smile. He wasn’t really hungry anymore but it looked so delicious that he wouldn’t have minded to taste it. But he knew that Sherlock had something else on his mind.

“Boring. I rather thought of smearing it all over your body and licking it up.”

“Which in other words means that you would eat it all alone.”

“No, of course not! I’ll feed it to you with my hand as well or I could dip my hard dick into it and you can lick it off.”

“We’ll need fresh towels for the bed.”

“Preferably brown ones.”

They grinned at each other and Mycroft felt his heart overflowing with love for the man next to him again. He imagined the mess Sherlock’s plan would cause and got up. “Alright then, let’s devour our dessert in style.”

Sherlock jumped to his feet. “What style?”

“The new Holmes brothers’ style. Naughty, dirty in every sense of the word, messy, sexy and sweet.”

“I have to admit I love this style.”

Mycroft could only agree on that.

They went upstairs once more. While Sherlock went for the towels and put them on the bed, Mycroft took out his phone. After a quick research, he ordered online a big bouquet of summer flowers for Mrs Hudson.

“Checking on work?” Sherlock asked and put his arms around his waist.

“No, just a little surprise for someone I owe something.”

Sherlock smiled. “She loves flowers.”

“It’s a bit creepy sometimes, you know that? How can you read my mind and know things you simply cannot know?”

“Because I’m Sherlock Holmes if that slipped your mind.”

Mycroft shook his head. “It’s still creepy.”

“No, it’s not. It’s just that deep connection neither of us could ever have with anybody else,” Sherlock said earnestly.

“Where was it before?” Mycroft answered in the same tone. “All this time…” He shook his head. All this long time - wasted with misunderstandings, heartache and hopelessness.

“I don’t know, darling,” Sherlock whispered. “All I know is that it’s there now, and it will never go away.”

Mycroft thought he could only hope this was going to prove true. He didn’t say it so Sherlock would not get afraid of the future even more than he already was, but then he realised it didn’t make any difference as Sherlock could read it from his face…

“Never, Mycie, not as long as you love me.”

“So indeed never, Sherlock.” He was surprised that Sherlock finally seemed to trust him to make their relationship work through the more difficult times that were waiting for them. And he would have rather cut off his right arm than disappoint him…

He took Sherlock in his arms and they kissed tenderly but it changed very quickly to rather hungrily. Finally Sherlock pulled back. “Now, Mr Holmes the elder, please lie down so I can give you a chocolate cream pack.”

*****

With deliberate movements, Sherlock just grabbed into the mousse and put it on Mycroft’s chest, then used both hands to smear it all over it. He was sitting on Mycroft’s thighs, their cocks equally hard already.

“I could shave you now,” Sherlock teased his lover with a wink. “I bet it would serve greatly as shaving foam.”

Mycroft smiled. “As I suppose you truly like my body hair…?” Sherlock nodded enthusiastically. “Then I guess I’m going to keep it. But it does feel good.”

Sherlock licked over the first creamed part of skin and rolled his eyes in pleasure. “And it tastes delicious.”

He took some and offered it to Mycroft, who licked over his hand. “I totally agree.”

By the end of their little food experiment, both of their faces plus Sherlock’s hair were covered in sticky chocolate mousse and so was Mycroft’s body. Sherlock was feeling a little sick from all the fat and sugar he had devoured after the already opulent lunch, and even though he had licked a lot of the mousse from Mycroft’s hard cock, nothing sexual had happened as the strong chocolate taste and smell had been a terrible distraction for both of them. They showered together once more and it turned out that the cream was sticking very persistently in Mycroft’s pubic hairs and Sherlock’s curls. When they had finally succeeded in cleaning each other, their fingers were crumpled from the hot water.

“Well, that was an interesting experience,” Mycroft said diplomatically when they were drying themselves off.

“It was but I think it will be one we might not repeat so soon,” Sherlock replied with a wink. “And you taste so sweet yourself - you don’t need any chocolate coating to have me lick every bit of your body.”

Mycroft pulled him in a tight embrace. “I’m glad to hear that, honey, and I can only return the compliment. Do you need a little break now so your stomach can recover?”

“You’re just afraid I could vomit over you,” Sherlock said with a grin.

“Well, I must admit I wouldn’t be very happy about that.”

“Then I think we should wait a while before I swallow you again.”

“Oh, I wanted to show you something anyway. Come to my office.”

He retrieved the key from a kitchen drawer and then they walked to the only locked room in Mycroft’s house. After opening up, Mycroft gestured Sherlock to enter first. He instantly looked at the frame on the desk - only to see that it had been replaced by one double-sized, and he saw one of the pictures Mrs Hudson had taken of them, both of them smiling happily into the camera. He beamed at Mycroft. “That’s a great picture.”

“Well, I haven’t worked in here overly much lately, but when I do in future, a visible proof of our love will always be with me. Although I will be just staring at it instead of working I’m afraid.”

Sherlock’s smile grew a little sad. This time would come soon enough… He remembered Mycroft’s look when he had told him that their special connection was going to stay for good. He had interpreted it as a sign that Sherlock believed him now that everything would work out fine. And Sherlock wanted to believe that, yet he couldn’t. That didn’t mean that he doubted Mycroft’s love. Their connection was going to last because they had grown so close the last couple of days. He didn’t think anymore that Mycroft would lose interest. And still he was panicking when he thought of the near future…

“I didn’t mean to depress you, Sherlock,” he heard him softly say.

“I know. It’s a beautiful picture and I would love to have a poster of it over my bed in Baker Street.”

He turned to look at Mycroft and their eyes locked. Both of them knew he could never do that, nor could Mycroft ever have this picture in his real office. Sherlock felt the well-known desperation grabbing for his heart again, and he fought against it. He was also aware that Mycroft knew exactly what he was feeling. “Will you just go to bed with me now and hold me for a while?” he asked quietly.

Mycroft pulled him close at once. “That I will do.”

They silently retreated to the bedroom and immediately started cuddling and kissing tenderly. Sherlock tried his best to push any negative thoughts away, and very soon his hands didn’t only slide over Mycroft’s sides and back, but went searching for his erect dick and his hole. Without a word Mycroft reached for the lube on the nightstand, handed it over to Sherlock and turned around to present him his back. Sherlock opened him up with his fingers and soon buried his dick inside him, held him very close, breathed him in and hardly moved his hips to extend their pleasure as long as possible. Eventually he started thrusting carefully and their moans broke the silence until Sherlock emptied himself into his lover’s body and Mycroft spilled his seed over the bed with the friendly help of Sherlock’s right hand.

“Finally time to change the linen,” Mycroft mumbled. “Later.”

“Yes, and you’ve run out of clean bath towels,” Sherlock murmured back.

“I love you, Sherlock. Please promise me that you’ll never forget that.”

 _Don’t forget that, whatever might happen…_ “I promise,” he whispered and pulled him as close as possible, “and I love you, too.”

*****

After a long nap, they went down to Mycroft’s gym for a training session, followed by a quiet evening with watching a movie. Mycroft knew that his brother wasn’t really interested in the story but he seemed to be content with resting his head on Mycroft’s lap and once in a while twisting one of his nipples while Mycroft was rubbing his head and teased _his_ nipples with the tip of his fingers. When the film was over, Sherlock told Mycroft that he was feeling pretty wired so he went for a jog round, and Mycroft used the time to get some paperwork done.

When Sherlock came back, covered in sweat and breathing hard, he stormed into Mycroft’s office and crawled under his desk to give him a wet and powerful blowjob, making Mycroft throw the contract with Ecuador he’d been working on aside to bury his hands in Sherlock’s curls. After Sherlock had brought his attack to a satisfying solution, they went for another quick shower and then curled up in the freshly made bed, kissing and making out until they fell into a healthy sleep.

After waking up in the morning, Mycroft returned the favour and woke his brother with working his flaccid cock over with his experienced mouth, licking and sucking him to full hardness within thirty seconds, and he carefully made sure to swallow every drop of cum that Sherlock was pumping into him not long after to not mess up the linen so soon again. This attempt proved to be pretty useless as Sherlock lifted his legs to his chest, silently and very naughtily offering his hole to him, and Mycroft just had to take the invitation, and soon after the linen was messed up with lube, sweat and the semen that was flowing out of Sherlock’s arse. So Mycroft decided to do the laundry, not wanting his housekeeper to see the unusual amount of linen and towels they had produced over the weekend. They had an early lunch, and after that Sherlock suggested they go to the park again.

“What would you do if you weren’t the British Government?” Sherlock asked him when they had reached a bench that was standing in a very nice spot. Both of them sat down. There were not many people around and they were all pretty far away. And apparently they were playing _I want to know you better_ again, Mycroft thought, but he didn’t mind.

“Sherlock, you are completely exaggerating. I am _not_ the British Government. I wish I was so I wouldn’t have to justify my decisions and be in charge alone instead of dealing with annoying people who have the same power as I have, let alone my boss.” He didn’t have to name them …

“Okay, but if you had another job, what would that be?” Sherlock insisted.

Mycroft thought about that question for a couple of minutes. “I honestly don’t know, Sherlock. I’ve been doing my work for so long; I think I’d be lost without it, no matter how painfully dumb the people I have to meet sometimes are.” He saw Sherlock cringe and he comprehended that this had not been just another curious question - it had been a test, and he had failed it. “I do get fed up with it sometimes,” he admitted quickly and honestly. “But in the end, it’s all I can do. I got used to the power and yes, the fear I cause.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “So you like to be the Iceman? As Martha said?”

It was Mycroft’s turn to cringe. “She said that? You do talk a lot about me with her it seems.” He regretted having said that in an instant. “I’m sorry, Sherlock, I know it’s good that you can talk to her, and I don’t mind that at all.”

“She really likes you now, you know,” Sherlock replied and Mycroft was very happy he hadn’t hurt him with his stupid words.

“She does? Even though I’m the _Iceman_ to her?”

“Well, actually she said that’s just what you want people to think of you. You want to be unapproachable.”

“Yes, as usual she’s right, I’ve always wanted that. It makes your life a lot easier if people fear you and don’t waste your time with trying to get close to you.” He shook his head. “And don’t think for a second I’m referring to you by saying that. I’ve always wanted you to try that.” And how much he had longed for that…

“And I only caused you trouble and broke your heart with my drug escapades,” Sherlock said quietly. “It’s no wonder you wouldn’t want anyone else to get close to you.”

“No, Sherlock, that’s a wrong conclusion. I would have never wanted anyone else to approach me because in my heart there had never been room for them. It has always belonged to you.” He saw Sherlock smile and internally he cursed himself - like he had done since the moment they got together -for not having the courage to make the first step _decades_ ago. He could have spared Sherlock so much pain, could have kept him from risking his life so often, and they just could have been together for so much longer.

Of course, Sherlock could read his thoughts again, and after a quick look around, he took Mycroft’s hand in his. “Don’t, Mycie. I could say the same. Instead of getting high to forget my feelings for you, I should have talked to you, but I was too afraid, just as you were. But the past is over and all we can do is work on our future.” He grimaced. “I’d have never thought I’d ever speak in platitudes but this is fitting.”

Mycroft nodded and pressed his hand. “And I’m absolutely determined to do so, honey. I want this to last forever.” He paused, then he let his thumb deliberately circle on the soft skin above Sherlock’s little finger. “I have thought a lot about what you said yesterday, about your feeling that I’m not family anymore.”

“You know I didn’t mean it in a negative way, don’t you? It’s in fact the opposite,” Sherlock assured him.

“I know. But… I want to _be_ your family. Not the family you were born into - both you and I have left our parents far behind - but the family you are building with the man you love.”

Sherlock grabbed his hand harder. “You absolutely are. Remember I called you my husband, my everything?” He seemed to think about that for a moment. “You’re right, you _are my family_. The only one that still counts.”

Mycroft would have liked to kiss him so much right now, and the fact that he couldn’t pulled at his heart painfully. He was about to suggest to return to his house when something pushed against his leg and Sherlock ripped his hand out of his.

“Billy, Bobby, come back!”

“Isn’t that…?” Mycroft asked his brother, and Sherlock grinned.

“It is indeed, and he brought a buddy.”

Mycroft had already noticed that two huge dogs were sniffing at his shoes, and a long pink tongue licked over the small bit of skin that was exposed above his socks. It was wet and hot and Mycroft kind of liked it…

“I’m sorry, I just can’t control them when they are up to something,” an exhausted looking Oscar Renner said when he had reached them.

“Do tell,” Mycroft said. “Is this why you now have two dogs instead of one who does what he wants?”

“Oh, it’s you! The Holmes brothers! Hello!” Oscar seemed to be happy to see them again, completely untouched by Mycroft’s sarcasm. “Yes, I thought Billy was feeling so alone when I had to work and couldn’t play with him, so I went to the shelter and found this precious little chap for his company.”

The _precious little chap_ was even bigger than Billy, but he seemed just as friendly. Mycroft hid a smile when he saw how enthusiastically Sherlock was rubbing their ears and tickling the fur under their snouts. His brother should have a dog of his own. A real one this time… And he would get it. _Then we would really be a family… A very unusual one but a family…_

Bobby came back to Mycroft and he gently touched the giant head that was resting on his knee. The fur was silky and the huge brown eyes gazed into his with instant adoration and deep trust. It was impossible to not smile at him and make silly noises.

“Would you mind if I took a seat?” Oscar asked to Mycroft’s displeasure. As much as he liked the dogs, he would have preferred being with Sherlock undisturbed. But Sherlock was already making room for the young man by getting closer to Mycroft, pressing their thighs together. He definitely liked that…

“So are you here often?” Oscar asked them. “It’s really amazing that you guys spend your Sundays together in a park! I normally only see other people with dogs, or families with kiddies and of course the inevitable love birds. I would never think of taking my brother here. If I had one.”

He chuckled innocently but Mycroft froze, absently continuing to caress the dog. He should have thought of that - it was just not normal for two adult brothers to spend cosy Sunday afternoons with each other, almost snuggling on a park bench. At least Oscar had not seen them holding hands…  He hoped that he hadn’t…

“Oh, we just met up to discuss the party for our mother’s seventy-fifth birthday,” Sherlock lied eloquently. “We both work so much that we only have time at the weekends, and as Mycroft is sitting in his dusty, dark office all day, I insisted he’d come here with me to get at least a little sunlight on his vampire face.”

“I almost turned to dust myself when I dared come out of my coffin,” Mycroft agreed.

Oscar laughed. “So what are you planning for the party?”

“We have not come to any agreement. Mycroft wants to engage a male stripper to jump out of the cake, but I thought our father would mind. And Mummy’s heart is not the youngest anymore.”

“This idea is still a lot better than having the Salvation Army coming over to sing for her and bring the food like you suggested,” Mycroft retorted and he could see the sparks in Sherlock’s gorgeous eyes; obviously his brother was enjoying their fake argument as much as he was.

“At least that would be a lot less expensive than ordering the catering from a Deli in Jerusalem.”

“True, but I read they are making the best pickles in the world.”

Their bickering was interrupted by the loud laughter of their visitor. “Dear God, you two should have your own comedy show. Whatever you really come up with in the end, I’m sure the party will be very memorable. And I don’t suppose money will be a problem. You two look like some rich guys.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I wouldn’t call us rich, Oscar. We do work a lot as I said and like to dress nicely. And isn’t that a real Rolex on your wrist?”

Oscar blushed a little. “It is. It was a gift by… a thankful client.”

“Very thankful indeed,” Mycroft said. “I wasn’t aware IT consultants do such worthy work for their clients?”

“Well, I… Sometimes I do. It was great to see you again, but I should play a bit with my guys now so they are tired tonight and don’t rip my house apart.” Oscar got up. “It was very nice to meet you again. And if we don’t see each other before, I hope you'll rock the party!”

“It was, and we certainly will. Have a good day,” Sherlock said and hurried to touch the dogs once more before they ran away.

“That was a little strange, don’t you think?” Mycroft said thoughtfully while they were watching the trio disappear.

“Well, who knows what he received that Rolex for. Perhaps he helps his clients out with more than computer services… And considering the price of this watch, he must be rather good at it…”

“You have a naughty fantasy, Sherlock.”

“You are only noticing that now?” Sherlock replied with raised eyebrows. “Then I apparently failed bitterly in the bedroom.”

“No you didn’t. Speaking of that… Would you mind going back home?”

Sherlock stood up instantly. “Not in the least. Anything special you would like to do?”

“You know, I’ve always wanted to try a 69 while standing,” Mycroft said while they were walking to the park exit.

“And what am I supposed to do, stand on my hands?”

“Exactly. On a chair I’d think. But I will hold your legs of course.”

“Sounds very interesting. If I collapse eventually and fall on my head, just throw me onto the bed and take me.”

“I surely will. Even unconscious you will be the best lay in the world.”

“You make the sweetest compliments, Mycie.”

“It’s my pleasure.”

“We can’t come here again, can we?” Sherlock said, his tone far from being playful anymore. “If we cause suspicion now in somebody who has only seen us once before and who is not the brightest bulb in the box...”

“I’m not sure he’s really such a simple-minded guy. Something’s strange about him. But anyway, you gave him a great explanation. I don’t see any problem to continue coming here. We'll only have to be more careful about touching each other.”

“I hate it,” Sherlock hissed and started to walk faster.

“So do I. But we will touch each other very soon, and it will be more than holding hands.” He knew that was not a comfort for Sherlock as he understood that this was what his brother longed for the most: being able to expose their love to the world, not because he wanted to show off but because if they were allowed to do that, they could also go on living together, wouldn’t have to hide anything, wouldn’t have to justify spending time together. But he knew as well as Mycroft that it would never be possible. Nevertheless Mycroft would do everything he could to make him feel great as soon as they’d arrive at home. For now changing the subject had to do.

“By the way, Sherlock, are you aware that our mother will turn indeed seventy-five this year? I had totally forgotten about that until you mentioned it.”

“What? Shit…  But we won’t have to go there, will we?”

“Sherlock…” He should have known after yesterday’s disaster that this subject would not be a bit better…

“I’ll send her a gift - that must do it. I’ll only go there if _you_ jump out of the cake, naked. Besides the fact that I’m through with them as you are aware, do you seriously think we could go there if they really celebrated it with a bunch of people who have known us forever, and pretend we are still brothers? And don’t say we are because you know what I mean.”

“Of course I do. But we both know we can’t avoid them forever, because they’d wonder even more.” He sighed deeply. “Don’t make it harder for us than it already is, Sherlock, please. Or do _you_ really think I wouldn’t want to openly be your man? Tell our parents and all other relatives that they won’t have to bother about our difficult relationship anymore because we are having a well-functioning sexual relationship now? That I wouldn’t want to hold your hand in front of everybody, including John or Lady Smallwood? I want it every bit as much as you do, Sherlock, but it just cannot be. We’ll have to play our roles in public, and we can only be husbands when we are alone.”

To his devastation he realised that his eyes had become wet. He looked in Sherlock’s green-blue eyes and it didn’t surprise him that they were swimming in tears as well.

“I’m sorry, Mycie, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“You didn’t, baby. The situation is hurting me.” For the first time since they had gotten together, he realised that it really did, that the fact that they would forever be forced to hide their love as if it was something evil and disgusting was making his heart heavy. And the hurt in Sherlock’s face increased his pain even more.

They were only one street away from Mycroft’s house now and Mycroft realised they were both almost _running_ , both needing so desperately to be alone with each other. Mycroft had barely closed the front door behind them when Sherlock was already clinging to him, sobbing at his throat. Mycroft embraced him tightly and while whispering words of love and comfort into his ear, he more or less dragged him through the floor, and then he lifted his lover’s body and carried him up the stairs - for once grateful that Sherlock was still too thin.

Breathing heavily from the effort, his arms burning from the weight, he kicked the bedroom door open and gently lay him down on the bed, covering his slim body with his own, their lips locked in desperate kissing. Sherlock moved heavily under him, rubbing his growing erection on Mycroft’s thigh; and Mycroft got up on his knees long enough to reach for the lube and open his trousers while Sherlock already pulled his own over his arse and got rid of them, and then Mycroft penetrated him with two sticky fingers and carefully slipped into him as soon as he could be sure he wouldn’t hurt him. He hardly moved in him, instead covering Sherlock’s wet face with kisses, nibbling on his ears and his throat, while sinking into him inch by inch until he was completely seated in him. Then Sherlock slung his long legs around his arse and urged him to thrust into him.

It lasted longer than any of their encounters before; it was as if his arousal was muffled by the pain in his heart while his dick was still as hard as usual. After almost half an hour, Sherlock’s passage closed around him and he came between their bodies with a moan that echoed from the walls, and the stickiness between them turned Mycroft on even more, and he finally released himself into Sherlock, screaming his name. When the last shivers of his climax had vanished, he pulled his still half-hard cock out of him and let himself sack next to Sherlock, who turned to him, and they lay in a close embrace, both still panting.

“I’d love to do that, you know,” Mycroft mumbled into Sherlock’s ear.

“Do what?” Sherlock licked over his chin.

“Jump out of that cake for you, while Mummy and Father and Uncle Mortus and Aunt Hallumenia and all the others are watching.”

He loved to hear Sherlock chuckle. “Oh, you’d be so good. Your long dick would be bobbing around, and they’d all clap and then I’d take you on the table.”

“That would be very nice,” Mycroft agreed and buried his tongue in Sherlock’s delicate ear.

“I love you so much, Mycie.”

“I know, Sherlock, and I’ll love you ‘til the end of the world.” This was so true, and yet right now it wasn’t a comfort to him because they’d never be able to be what Sherlock and - he knew that now - also he wanted the most: not being brothers anymore but husbands…


	11. Chapter 11

Mycroft was staring at his computer screen, scanning and memorizing all the new information he had received over the weekend, once more deciding where actions had to be taken by either himself or his staff. Reports from all ministries and the Secret Service were being sent to him on a daily basis, for making him - supported by his colleagues in this secret government department - the one who held all the strings, knew all the connections, could foresee potential threats. His brain was working like a giant computer with endless capacities, storing all the data for possible later use. He had specialised in foreign affairs and the MI5 and MI6, but he had to be aware of everything that was going on behind the closed doors of every ministry. So it was of primary importance that he was concentrated all the time, paid attention to each detail and didn’t overlook anything. Which proved to be more difficult with every passing day since his life had changed so dramatically.

Of course, the officials in the ministries had not worked at the weekend except for making emergency decisions, but the Secret Service didn't have any days off. Mycroft tried to focus on the last MI6 report about the secret Russian atomic development, but his thoughts kept drifting away. When he read column after column, in the back of his mind the same thoughts were whirling:

_What is he doing now? How is he feeling? I want to be with him now! I love him so much! Will he be waiting for me when I come home tonight?_

Sherlock. It was all about him now. It was not that Mycroft was experiencing _sentiment_ for the first time. In fact, his sentiments for his brother had always weighed on his soul. Fearing what might happen to him, desiring him, longing for him, the pain about not having him, the guilt about wanting him -  all this had been there for longer than he had occupied his position. But ironically enough, he had been easily able to store these feelings away in the back of his heart; he had been completely able to forget about them when he’d been working until the next call about Sherlock being in trouble had brought them to attention. But he had always been able to function without any problem.

And now that he had all he had ever longed for, that he shared his bed with him, knew that he possessed his heart and his body and his soul, knew that he was whom Sherlock wanted, it was suddenly so much harder to go on with his work life. Being as analysing as he’d always been, he knew why: because now he had something to go home to, and he wanted to be at home rather than at work. Because now that something meant to him so much and made him so happy, he didn’t need his obsession with government matters anymore. There was nothing he wanted to be distracted from anymore. All of that summed up to an increasing dislike of being in the office or getting bothered with work related phone calls at home.

He remembered Sherlock’s question about what he would do if he didn’t have his occupation, and how he had not been able to think of anything. But he realised that it was true, he didn’t know what else he could do - but in fact what he did was no longer what he wanted. He grew cold inside by this thought. His work had defined him for so long, how could that change within less than two weeks just because he had found love? Wasn’t that completely silly? All his colleagues were married or - in Lady Smallwood’s case - widowed, but she had children that surely meant something to her. And none of them had a problem with concentrating and focusing on their work. Why should he of all people struggle with that?

He startled when his phone chirped and knew even before he looked at the display that the text was coming from Sherlock. Probably the detective had sensed Mycroft thinking about him somehow…

_How’s your day, honey? I’m sitting in our improvised office with John and a client and above me they are hammering and drilling holes and I will soon go upstairs and shoot them. SH_

_My day is very busy but I cannot really concentrate. Wonder why. And I’d suggest taking pain killers for your headaches instead of killing innocent craftsmen. MH_

_It’s not about the headaches, Mycie. You know that. It’s like I’m listening to them building a prison for me where I’ll be locked away from you, and I’m supposed to be HAPPY about it. You should see John - for him it’s like sweet music. Perhaps I should just shoot HIM. SH_

_But I know you’re busy and I shouldn’t bother you with my self-pity. SH_

_I know how you’re feeling, baby. But please don’t shoot anyone. I wouldn’t want to visit you in a real prison. They wouldn’t let us have sex there. MH_

_True. You sound sad yourself, Mycie. I’m sorry to cause you pain. SH_

_You can read my sadness in my texts? Amazing. There’s nothing you have to be sorry for. MH_

_Of course I can read that. I always know how you’re feeling now. Especially because since yesterday, we’re on the same pain level. That’s what I’m sorry for. I shouldn’t drag you down. SH_

_Sherlock, you are the reason that I’m still breathing. I just wish… You know what I wish… I love you so much. MH_

_Mycie, all I want to do right now is to come over to you and hug you. Kiss you. Tell you in person how much I love you. But I can’t. So right now I think I should let you get to work. Be at home as soon as you can tonight so I can do all that. And don’t be sad. Be a Holmes. Show them the Iceman. And tonight show me your dick. SH_

Mycroft laughed out loud about that last sentence. And as usual, being in contact with Sherlock - even if it was just by sending each other texts - lightened up his heart, and he felt he could go on with work now and do what had to be done. Without questioning the sense of this all…

_You always know what to say, Sherlock. If I needed another reason to love you, that would be it. Thank you. And as soon as I’m at home, I will not only show you my dick but shove it into your mouth. MH_

_That’s my man. If you need or want to talk, I’m here. Always. No need to suffer all alone. I’m holding the world record in suffering from hating to have to hide our love, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like competition. I hope that you can concentrate now. I love you. SH_

Mycroft was about to reply, but instead he called Sherlock. Knowing the detective was busy himself, being with John and who knew who else, trying to solve a case. But he needed to hear his voice now.

He had to wait almost for a minute for Sherlock to answer the phone. _“Hello beautiful.”_

“Are you so used to only sending texts that you first had to figure out how to take a call?” Mycroft teased him.

_“No, actually I had to leave the room so John and Mr I-Forgot-His-Name can’t hear what I’m saying.”_

“Yes, of course.”

There was an awkward silence for a moment, and Mycroft realised that they had never spoken on the phone about any private matter, except when Mycroft had checked on him during his drug episodes. But in fact Sherlock had hardly ever answered the phone when he had called him… “Listen, I know you’re busy with your client and I should go on reading my reports, but…” Mycroft wondered why the hell he was so shy all at once. This was Sherlock he was talking to! “You said if I wanted to talk…”

_“Are you seriously apologising for calling me, Mycie? Because if you are, you will receive a hard punishment tonight. I love to talk to you, and the only reasons that I never call you are that, number one, I cannot talk with you and a client at the same time and that, number two, I never know what you are doing at this moment and I don’t want to interrupt a meeting with the Queen.”_

“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”

_“Absolutely nothing is wrong with you, Mycie. Except that you think you are disturbing me, which you’re totally not, and that you are not used to talk on the phone about feelings.”_

“Yes, a lot of it can be transported better through looks and touches.”

_“I love to look into your baby-blues and touches are greatly appreciated. But tell me what you’re feeling now.”_

“You sound like a therapist, Sherlock.”

He heard him chuckle. _“I am now. Your husband, your best friend, your love toy, why not also your therapist?”_

Mycroft didn’t miss which function he had _not_ mentioned. _Your brother… He’s completely serious about that…_

“I love you, Sherlock. I guess that’s what I wanted to say. I was feeling so strange before you texted me. I sat there and tried to read an important email, but all I could think about was you. And I wondered why everybody else in this office is easily able to focus on their work even though they have a private life, but not me.”

Sherlock had listened to him without saying a word and when he answered, his wonderful deep voice was earnest and understanding. _“Because your love for me has blown away the barriers between your mind and your feelings. Because it’s interfering with who you always thought you were. The Iceman. Not only are you not - not when you think about me - but you are sad about having to pretend you still are, you are sad you can’t show anybody how you feel, and you know how deeply you would fall if any of your colleagues knew what we have. There are so many reasons. The others lead normal, boring lives so it’s no wonder they don’t have a problem, but you are loved by Sherlock Holmes, the most amazing, beautiful and intelligent man in the world - except for yourself - and if that’s not reason enough to be not able to concentrate I don’t know what should be.”_

Mycroft laughed. “That was a very helpful analysis, Dr Holmes. I love you so much.”

_“And so do I, Mr British Government.”_

“Speaking of that…”

_“Yes, go back to work now and… Oh, my client is leaving. Either John has solved the case or he’s fed up with waiting for me.”_

“Oh, I’m sorry, Sherlock, I never meant to…”

_“Don’t. Don’t be sorry, and don’t say you are. You are my priority. I know I can never be yours, but that’s alright. We'll text later, okay? Or you can call me again. I’m here. I’m always here. Bye.”_

“Bye honey,” Mycroft murmured and heard the connection go off. _I know I can never be yours_ echoed in his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment. The urge to once more throwing something against the wall was almost overwhelming. But that wouldn’t have changed anything. Because as long as he _was_ some sort of _Mr British Government_ , his work had to be his priority in his working hours. A simple conclusion. Sherlock was only responsible for himself, a freelancer in more than one sense. But he was a servant of the United Kingdom. Generously paid for keeping all harm from the country. An occupation he’d always been proud of. And now it only felt stale…

A sharp knock at the door made him startle once more. “Yes?”

Anthea peered around the door. “Are you aware of your meeting with the Prime Minister at two o’clock, sir?”

Mycroft swallowed. No, he had totally forgotten about it. A quick glance at his computer told him he was still in good time. “Thank you, I will just finish reading this email and then I’m on my way.” Time to get his senses together. Time to be the _Iceman_ . And tonight he would be _Mycie_ again. Making Sherlock and himself happy. Easiest thing in the world…

*****

Sherlock leaned against the open door of the remains of 221B with a cup of tea in his hand and watched the busy workers for several minutes. It had been a stressful morning for him as well with a lot of completely uninteresting cases. They didn’t have time for lunch nonetheless, and John had offered to go to Angelo’s and fetch some pasta for them. _Your flat will be as good as new in less than two weeks_ , the foreman had told him with a wide smile. Sherlock had barely succeeded in not slapping the grin from his face. Great news... Especially now that it was clear that Mycroft had started to feel equally bad about them having to live apart. Sherlock knew that they would both feel worse when it would really happen. Two weeks... and then what? He suppressed the impulse to throw his cup against the wall and turned around in his sudden rage, almost crashing into John who had just come up the stairs. He pulled back at once. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“That’s alright, Sherlock, nothing happened. And even if it did, it would be totally okay.”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment and silently counted to five. “That’s... good. Do you have the food?”

“Oh yes, it’s waiting for us in the office. Isn’t it great how much progress they have made on the first day?” he asked with bright eyes while glancing over the flat.

“Yes, _great_. Let’s go have lunch.” He started going downstairs, followed by the doctor.

“It surprises me how much you are eating nowadays. Mycroft seems to take good care of you.”

 _Oh yes, he does but…._ “Does that mean you think I’m getting fat?” He stood still on the stairs, suddenly worried, especially when he was thinking of the food orgy with the chocolate mousse after eating a dozen sandwiches...

“Oh no, not at all!” John hurried to assure him. “You look great, I mean...” Sherlock could see him blush and he felt like screaming. “You’ve buffed up a lot. Working out?”

“Yes, Myci-roft has a gym on the ground-floor and w-I’ve gone there sometimes.”

“I bet there’s nothing he doesn’t have in his huge house. It’s no wonder you are not very keen on moving out of there,” John said when they entered the kitchen.

Sherlock should have known John would notice that. “You know, I’ve grown up in a very sophisticated house - seems I’m getting used to that again.” He sounded like his arrogant best.

“I bet you do. Here, _Spaghetti A la Angelo_ for you.”

Sherlock stretched out his long legs just to kick John’s under the table. “Oh, sorry again.”

“No worries, Sherlock. I really don’t mind.”

They sat down and started to eat. “You know John, since this...” Sherlock broke off, struggling to continue with behaving as if he was in love with John but not wanting to talk about it.

“Yes, you mean... the... situation?” John stared at him with pitiful eyes and Sherlock wondered how they would look with black bruises around them.

“Well... All I wanted to say is: once we’ve moved in again, perhaps I’ll need some more time away from here when we’re not working.” Mycroft had come up with this simple idea the night before, right after climaxing into Sherlock’s mouth if he remembered correctly. It would still not allow him to stay the nights in Mycroft’s house without causing suspicion but at least make it possible to steal more time with him.

“Oh, of course, I totally understand that. Seems the Iceman has no problem with you being around; it certainly helps that his house is so big that you can avoid each other easily.”

“Indeed. Sometimes I don’t see him for days.” He reached out for his phone and started typing with the left hand that he didn’t need for eating.

_He bought it. Great idea! Amazing how flooding someone’s mouth with your cum heightens your thought process! SH_

_Good news! And amazing how this picture immediately let all the blood in my brain flow down to my groin. MH_

_Mmm… I wish I was there to take care of that right now… SH_

_I’m sure that the Prime Minister wouldn’t mind watching you kneeling between my legs, inhaling my dick, slurping and drooling; he could in fact try to talk BOTH of us to death then. MH_

_Oops, sorry. I guess we should continue this conversation later. SH_

_Preferably yes. And perhaps you could take care of me tonight? In our bed where you can slurp and drool as much as you want? MH_

_There’s nothing I’d rather do, Mycie. I love you, my smart, sexy, irresistible, wonderful man. SH_

_I love you, too, Mr Hot-Handsome-Hunky Holmes. Can I call you when I get out of here? MH_

_Of course!!! Looking forward to it! Big kiss! SH_

_That sounds good. Love you. Bye for now - he’s looking a little angry. MH_

“How long, Sherlock?” John asked quietly.

Sherlock opened his eyes widely. “Sorry what?”

“Since when, you know, have you found me... attractive?”

“Oh… That…” Sherlock put his phone on the table - his hand slightly shivering. How silly to have thought John might know anything about his life having turned a bit incestuously. And how silly not to be prepared for this conversation… He remembered their early years together, just John and he against the rest of the world, with Mycroft - still just his brother - being a shadow in the dark, the one he lusted after, desired and cared for but feeling forced to reject and throw his never ending concern into his face time after time. He still felt deeply ashamed about that. But now he was here with John and should better convince him that he was the one he wanted without actually convincing him. Or should he? Damn, he would have loved to discuss that with Mycroft. But he had to go through that alone. “Um… You remember that first evening, chasing for the killer of the pink lady?”

“Yes, of course I do, I… Oh my God, you want to tell me that you did… from the start?!”

Sherlock did recall how he had felt when he had realised that John had killed the cab driver for him even though he had known Sherlock for less than a day.  He had been overwhelmed by that instant loyalty from a mere stranger. A muscular, good-looking, blue-eyed stranger who had spent the evening with him - openly admiring Sherlock’s cleverness, completing him at the crime scene with his medical skills, showing a trust in him that Sherlock had never experienced before, and who had finally saved Sherlock from a man who wouldn’t have been any danger for him if he had just left the room instead of playing that silly game with the deadly pill.

And then his brother had shown up at the scene - unexpected and unwelcome, the ever-admonishing figure, making him feeling defensive, silly, and like the little kid he had always presumed Mycroft was still seeing in him. And of course there had been a confrontation again, as it had always happened when Sherlock had felt controlled and belittled by him: the man with the great power, the one who always had the last word, spoken by the sharpest tongue in the world, the _smart one_ , the impeccable one, the one man who was so far above him, and Sherlock had been as awful to him as he’d ever been. But when they had been standing there - face to face, bickering as always, with John and Anthea standing beside them - all of his soul had screamed for grabbing his stupid tie and bloody _kiss_ him…

“Sherlock? It’s alright, you can tell me, you can tell me everything.”

Oh, yes, _John_ . It was amazing how his thoughts were always drifting to Mycroft, no matter what he was supposed to be thinking about… He had to concentrate now. “Well, that you shot this killer to save me… Nobody had ever done something like that for me.” _But Mycie saved me so many times, he… Shut up now!_ “I was so taken by your bravery and your decency.” He realised that all of this was true. He had known he had found a really good friend in the soldier, and he _had_ found him attractive. But it had been in a completely platonic and abstract way as he knew now that he was experiencing _real_ attraction and romance.

“Oh God, Sherlock, I’m so sorry I beat you, I know I’ve never told you…  When you came back, and when Mary had been killed… If I just had known your feelings for me, I’d have never done that.” John ruffled his hair, looking really miserable.

Sherlock winced on his chair, hastily continuing to eat the now cold noodles. This was just horrible, having to lie to John like that, making him apologise for… Well, actually John _did_ owe him an apology or two. Whatever, he _hated_ this conversation… If only…

“U-uu! Hello boys, how’s your lunch?”

 _God bless Martha Hudson_ . “Fine, Ma-rs Hudson, how are you?” Sherlock said. Fuck, he had to think of so much… John had no idea that Sherlock called her by her first name now, and every time he met her in John’s presence, he had to switch back to _Mrs Hudson_.

“Hello Mrs Hudson, if I’d known you’d be at home, I’d have fetched you a meal, too,” John welcomed her, setting up a chair for her, apparently as thankful as Sherlock about the interruption.

Their landlady took a seat next to Sherlock. “Oh boys, I think it’s time that you stop calling me _Mrs Hudson_ \- I feel so old when you do that!” She giggled and took a hand of each of the men. “My name is Martha.”

Sherlock knew that his eyes were full of gratitude when he was looking at her, and he pressed her hand back, carefully avoiding hurting her. “It’s my pleasure!” And it was. She was such a support for him and Mycroft, always knowing what to do or say. He was not happy that she had allowed the work on the flat to continue sooner than he had hoped for, but as well as Mycroft he understood her decision. He owed her so much and he really adored her.

John seemed to be very surprised, which was no wonder as they had known Mrs Hudson for so long now, and she had never made this offer in all these years. But he didn’t question it. “Fine, Martha. I feel honoured. Would you like me to get something to eat for you?”

“Thank you, dear, but I had a little brunch with my friend Hester. She’s not feeling well, she has this nasty open wound on her back. Perhaps you could have a look at her, John?”

Sherlock shuddered, but the doctor seemed untouched. “Sure, no problem. There seems to be nobody who requires the help of the Consulting Detective and his brave assistant today anymore - we’ve already made them all happy.”

“Yes, I think I’ll go home soon, didn’t catch much sleep last night,” Sherlock immediately declared. Of course he hadn’t slept much; he had a lot better things to do with Mycroft being in the same bed…

“You eat, you say you need sleep, seems like you’re a new man since you’ve been living with Mycroft,” John said, and it seemed to Sherlock as if his tone was a little bitter, especially when he mentioned his lover’s name. “I told you to do that for so many years but you never bothered.”

“Well, to be fair, Mycroft had been telling me that for _decades_ before I even met you,” Sherlock said, trying to sound completely relaxed even though it annoyed him to even hear Mycroft’s name out of John’s mouth, let alone in this tone.

“Yes, true. And now you finally do what he tells you, amazing.” John shook his head.

Sherlock froze. He caught Martha’s gaze. “Sherlock has grown up after all these horrible things that happened to you two, John,” she immediately interfered. “He knows now what’s really important, looking after himself as well as he can, and also don’t reject his brother’s advice only because it’s coming from him.”

John nodded. “Of course. Sorry Sherlock, I didn’t want to sound… Well, I don’t know. Perhaps I’m just confused. I’ve never expected you… would be feeling that way and… oh, sorry again, but maybe we should tell Martha?”

Sherlock knew that he had to finish this conversation before he threw John through the kitchen. His patience had finally vanished and he decided to stop playing the _I love you but I don’t want to show you_ -game. It was simply too difficult. “I've already told Martha that I’m in love with you. She has tried to convince me to tell you straight away, but I didn’t dare do that.”

“That’s right - the poor baby thought you might despise him.”

“Despise you?! Sherlock, I would never do that! I’m not your brother!”

Sherlock felt a hot range building up, knowing that John was referring to Sherrinford, having no idea what he was talking about. He felt Mrs Hudson’s hand on his knee under the table and forced himself to calm down and just don’t say anything. Thank God, Martha answered for him. “You'll have to forgive him, John, he’s so inexperienced in having such feelings. I’m sure that everything will be fine and you can go on living with each other as friends.”

“Of course. I’m completely fine with this situation, I feel flattered, but I totally understand that you need more room for yourself, no worries. I’m glad you let me live here with you at all under these circumstances.”

Sherlock bit on his bottom lip to not scream _I don’t want that, get out of my life!_ “Thank you for your understanding, John,” he said instead. “I’ll go and make tea now.” Without waiting for an answer, he stood up and stalked out of the room, feeling the urge to move and get away from John before he would do something he might regret. He had just reached the kitchen when he suddenly realised that his phone was still lying on the table in the _office_. In the moment he hurried back into the floor, he heard it signalising a call and he gasped. Hopefully John would leave it alone or Martha would be faster…

When he entered the room, John was holding his still chirping phone, and Sherlock felt like throwing up. “It’s the Iceman,” John declared. Sherlock almost ripped the mobile out of his hand before he could take the call, not being able to think straight.

“Hi brother, controlling me as usual?” He desperately tried to keep his voice from trembling.

 _“Brother?”_ he heard Mycroft say. _“Controlling you? Oh, you’re not alone. Can you leave the room or shall we stop talking?”_

“Neither of it. I told you I don’t touch your things.” He hardly knew what he was saying. He was just aware that it would look very odd to John if he left the room to talk to Mycie in private, or end up the call abruptly. The latter wouldn’t have been anything new only two weeks ago, but John knew that they were getting along better since Sherrinford - only not _how much_ better…

_“Sherlock, is something wrong? Is John getting suspicious? I hope that you don’t really mean you won’t touch my things…”_

“Of course not, again, neither of it, don’t be stupid. I thought you were the _smart one_.”

_“That’s good to hear. But I think we should stop talking, you sound very stressed. I just wanted to tell you that I’ll be home early today and bring something for dinner; we can have a very relaxing and nice evening if that’s agreeing with you.”_

_Yes!_ “As you wish, Mycroft. Let’s see what I can do for you then.”

_“I’m sure that you can do a lot for me… Not sure though if calling you is the best idea, I’m sorry that I brought you in a difficult situation.”_

“It’s not difficult at all, and I will help you of course.” Everything in Sherlock cried for saying _I love you_.

Of course Mycroft knew that. _“I love you, Sherlock, and don’t say it back, I can hear it in your voice anyway. Try to be cool.”_

It took all of his self-control to not say it. Instead he ended the connection with a quiet _bye_ . “My… brother needs my assistance with something. I’ll go then.” He almost choked at the word _brother_.

“You don’t need me there?” John asked.

 _Dear God, no…_ “It’s a very secret matter, sorry. I can’t even tell you.”

The doctor shook his head. “Sometimes I forget how annoying and paranoid your brother is.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes but then he saw Martha shook her head warningly. “Well, you should be indeed used to that by now. See you tomorrow then.”

“And what if there’s a case coming up?”

 _Stick it where the sun doesn’t shine…_ “Sorry, that will have to wait until tomorrow. Martha, have a wonderful day.”

“Goodbye, my dear. I hope that you can be of help for your brother.”

“I will without a doubt.” With this Sherlock finally left. His head was spinning from this exhausting, nerve-wracking day. The tiring cases, the noise in the house, the enquiring _by_ and the forced and untrue confession _to_ John, the crazy communication with Mycie and above all the horrible sight of John holding his phone - it had all been too much. What if John had read his texts to and from Mycie? What if he had taken the call and Mycie had started speaking before him, calling him _honey_ or whatever? Sherlock was feeling the meanwhile familiar hopelessness. This all was just so stressful; there was so much to think of, so much that had to be avoided; there was no way he could afford letting things slide for even a second.

John was much nicer to him than he’d been for a long time now, but he still disliked Mycroft, and if he found out that Sherlock had lied to him about being in love with him, he would certainly be dangerous for them, in more than one way. Sherlock didn’t have any hope that John would ever accept their sexual relationship. Nobody would, except for Mrs Hudson. But even with her constant support, Sherlock had no doubt that things would never be anything else than _fucking extremely difficult…_ And he _fucking hated the unfairness of it all…_


	12. Chapter 12 - Four weeks later

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We make a little jump in time now. It's time for Sherlock to return to Baker Street.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I have more online-time this week, I will probably post more often. 
> 
> Guys, I wonder what you think of my story? Don't be shy, comment! :)
> 
> The credits for Mycroft's first gift for Sherlock are going to my beloved scarletmanuka! Thanks for the great idea, honey!
> 
> There will be some homophobic language in this chapter. But it won't go unpunished!

Sherlock threw a last look at his flat. Everything was shining and brand new and ready for him to move in the other day. He couldn’t do it for one more night as there had been some severe delivery problems with his bed which would arrive the next day now. The entire reconstruction had been ill-fated with a few electric shorts (one had set fire on the finished bathroom) and a burst pipe that had flooded the kitchen. But now the streak of bad luck - that had almost driven the doctor into madness - was finished, and Sherlock would only have to spend one more night in Mycroft’s house. This was the official version…

On the stairs he met Martha. “Is everything alright with you, honey?” she asked and patted on his arm.

Sherlock nodded although of course it wasn’t. “Mycroft will pick me up now to bring me… home.” He knew that this place here would never be his home again, even though it looked like it had before the explosion that already seemed to have been ages ago. He wouldn’t have to move any of the items Mycroft had bought for him when he’d started living with him and during the weeks he had spent in his house. His man had surprised him with a huge delivery to 221B which contained exactly the same items and more - making it possible for him to keep everything he needed in Mycie’s house so he could feel at home there whenever he had the chance to be there. He had found this so damn romantic that he had cried, clinging on Mycie’s neck, mumbling his thanks and his love into his ear.

The past weeks had been a constant promise of keeping their love alive forever. Every night when Mycroft had been at home from work, they had made love for hours, cherishing each precious moment together. The time had been filled with tender touches, hard fucking, juicy watersports sessions, or just extended kissing, in short with a wide range of pleasing each other. And the past two days - their last weekend together for who knew how long - they had not left the bed at all except for the basic needs;  both of them had wanted to be as close as possible to the other one. They had not talked too much though except for reassuring each other of their love, being too occupied with kissing and cuddling and making love.

And now…

“I’ll be back tomorrow morning so we can prepare everything for the housewarming party and I’ll be here when the bed gets delivered,” Sherlock promised her even though he didn’t have the slightest wish to celebrate something he simply hated. But John had insisted on completing their moving back together _as it is right and proper_ , and as Sherlock didn’t really care, he had given into it.

“Alright, my dear, enjoy your evening and please cheer up. It’s not the end of the world. And you know you can always count on me.”

He pulled her into a grateful embrace. “I know, and I appreciate all your help so very much. Bye for now.”

After leaving the house, he stood leaning against the door - lost in rather dark thoughts - until the long black limousine arrived. He got into the car and sat as close as possible next to his lover, who pulled him tight and kissed his temple. Sherlock could smell his expensive eau de cologne and rubbed his face on his freshly shaven chin.

“Hello darling, you okay?”

“No.” Sherlock huddled against his throat.

“Well, so tomorrow will be the day. No more sabotage possible?”

“I guess not. I was lucky that the insurance did not only pay for the reconstruction but also for all the incidents that happened. They might get a little suspicious if there were any more damages…”

Mycroft chuckled. “Thank God John is so ingenuous.”

“When he stood in the flooded kitchen, I could watch his carotid throb as if it would explode any second. Shame that it hasn’t…”

“Indeed. Do you need to buy anything for the party?”

“No, John has done it. It was his idea in the end.”

“I’m sure that it will be nice.”

“Yeah, me too… As nice as getting a kick in the gut… You’re sure that you can’t come sooner?”

“I’m afraid not; I’ll be having two appointments in the afternoon. But I will come as soon as I can. We’ll just have to be pretty careful.”

Sherlock was totally aware of that. Molly would be there as well as Lestrade. “Yes, I will try my best to treat you like my _fucking brother_.”

Mycroft kissed his ear. “We’ll have to postpone the fucking a little I’m afraid, but to everybody else I still _am_ your brother.”

Sherlock grinned against his will. “If anyone had told me two months ago you would ever use such a word, I would have thought he was completely stupid.”

“Well, I only use it in front of you. It would sound a bit odd if I did it around other people.”

“Shame. If you told the PM to fuck off, he might stop getting on your nerves all the time.”

“I should give that a try. We’ve arrived; get your hot little arse out of the car.”

Sherlock did as he was told and smiled when Mycroft took the opportunity to playfully slap his bum that he had wiggled in front of his face after getting up.

“What was that for?” Sherlock asked him when they were both stalking to the house.

“Oh, nothing special. It just looked so slappable.”

“I don’t think that word exists at all.”

“Then it should be invented for your cute bottom.”

Mycroft closed the door behind them and Sherlock was immediately all over him before he could even put his umbrella in its stand. “I don’t know how I‘m supposed to go there, Mycie. I really don’t… The only place I want to live at is this one. Or any place where you are.” He knew that Mycroft’s house was luxurious and generous and comfortable, but he also knew that with pleasure he would live in an old hovel if only Mycie was around…

“And I don’t know how I should let you go, Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered while holding him tight. “I wish so much you could stay here, forever.”

It surprised Sherlock how openly he expressed his feelings now. Over the last couple of weeks, Mycroft had always tried to cheer him up and distract him from his fears of a future in which they would have to live apart. But now that the day of Sherlock’s moving out was directly ahead, he obviously couldn’t suppress his own depression about it anymore.

The really bad thing about this all was that Sherlock knew that if only there had not been a law against them being together the way they were, they could and would show it to the world. Sod their parents’ feelings, Mycie’s damn job and the opinions of anyone they knew, they would stand up saying _we love each other_ and give a fuck what anyone was thinking. He didn’t have to ask Mycie about that to be sure of it. But in a society where their love was condemned as not only being evil and wrong but lawbreaking, they had no possibility to act like that.

“Come upstairs, baby, and get ready to go to bed. I’ll fetch everything we need.”

It was only six o’clock but Sherlock was more than happy to obey. He showered quickly, shaved and then stretched out naked on the mattress, waiting for Mycie to arrive. He did within ten minutes with deliciously looking sandwiches and a bottle of champagne.

“I wasn’t aware we had anything to celebrate?” Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to be sarcastic.”

“No worries honey, but I think we do have to celebrate something - namely our love that will stay strong forever, no matter which efforts it will take to be together. Here.” He handed a filled glass over to him, and after undressing quickly, he took a seat next to him.

They clinked their glasses but Sherlock barely noticed the taste of the certainly expensive champagne. His heart was feeling like an open wound… When would they be together like that the next time? Lying naked in a bed together, about to have sex? They had not made any plans for meeting up at certain times. Both of them knew that they had to figure that out every day - getting to see each other whenever an opportunity was opening up. Mycroft had promised him again that they would indeed see each other every day and Sherlock definitely believed him that he would try. But only time would tell how this all would work out.

They ate in silence and Mycroft obviously had as little appetite as Sherlock had.

“I’ve got something for you,” Mycroft said when they had finished their meal and reached for the drawer.

At first Sherlock had no idea what he was looking at when a long pale-pink something was presented to him.

“What is that? Wait, a dildo? Yeah, I guess I’ll definitely need one… That was very considerate of you.”

“It’s not just a random dildo, Sherlock - take a real look.”

Sherlock did and examined the toy. And then it hit him… ”That’s your dick!”

“Well, not quite, the real thing is still attached to my body, but this little helper was moulded after it.”

“Who the hell did that?!” Sherlock absently rubbed over the knob, almost expecting it to be wet, and wondered with more than a sting of jealousy who had laid hand on his lover’s erect penis.

“I did it myself. It’s pretty easy, you buy a set online, mix the stuff, put your cock in there when it’s hard, and after everything is dry, you have a negative of it and put silicone in it and voilà. The only problem was to sneak home during the day to do it without you noticing to not spoil the surprise.”

“Yes, totally easy… Let’s just hope that John never sees it.”

“He wouldn’t know that it’s a double of mine, Sherlock, as I’m quite sure that he has never seen it. And he wouldn’t be that surprised that you use such a thing.”

“No, probably not. Perhaps he’ll think that I made it to imagine it was _his_ dick. Even though his is not even half as big as yours.”

“You did see John’s cock?! When did that happen?”

Sherlock smiled. Somehow he liked it when Mycroft was jealous. “We lived together in a small flat for years, sharing one bathroom. Of course we have seen each other naked. Not hard of course but naked.”

Mycroft shook his head. “I don’t like that.” He looked as if he regretted having talked Sherlock out of cancelling his agreement with John to live together again. But it was too late for that now…

“That’s really a great gift,” Sherlock changed the subject. “Of course, I’d rather have the real deal.”

Mycroft pulled him close. “You will of course. But since you can’t sleep here anymore - at least not very often - I thought if you woke up in the middle of the night in your bed and felt a certain need, you could use it and pretend it’s me. I know it’s a poor replacement but I thought it might help a bit.”

Sherlock searched his lips for a kiss. “It will. But unfortunately you are not attached to it. Your smile, your hands, your skin, your soul, I will miss all of that…”

“What about my brilliant mind?” Mycroft asked between kisses.

“I will miss that, too, of course. I love you so much, Mycie.”

“I know. And words can’t describe how much I love you and will miss you in every minute you cannot be with me.”

They got lost in another kiss and Sherlock tried to memorise every detail of how this was feeling - Mycroft’s taste, his warmth, his soft hair that Sherlock’s hand was stroking, the silky skin of his back, the little dimple in his chin that Sherlock licked on, just everything that defined his body. “Let me feel your dick now, Mycie, the hot- and throbbing- and leaking one.” He touched said cock that was hard as a rock, pressing against his thigh.

Mycroft sent him a sad smile and reached for the drawer again to get the lube. Sherlock turned his back to him and shuddered when he felt two of his lover’s long fingers - sticky from the gel - gently rubbing his hole and then sliding into it. He started touching himself and moaned loudly when Mycroft’s long cock replaced the fingers. He felt Mycroft grabbing his hips and thrusting increasingly hard into him, his hips clashing against Sherlock’s arse with every stroke. He slightly changed the ankle eventually, and Sherlock moaned loudly when Mycroft’s dick started hitting his prostate with every thrust. He pushed his arse back to meet Mycroft’s rhythm, and after a couple of minutes he came with a cry, not changing his movements until Mycroft moaned his name and Sherlock felt his seed shooting inside his body, making him climax once more.

*****

“Oh, isn’t it great to finally be back here?” John beamed at him and pressed a kiss on Rosie’s cheek. He was wearing a black shirt (sticking in his tight black jeans probably either to stress his nowadays slim figure or the silver belt he was wearing), black boots and even a silver bracelet on his wrist. He was dressed up almost like Sherlock, except for the bracelet… _And I am the gay one_ , Sherlock had thought when he had seen it…

“Yes, great.” Sherlock looked around the living room which was prepared for the party. There were balloons and snacks and glasses waiting to be filled, and he was willing to go to his room and cry.

“Oh, come on, I know it’s not Mr Iceman’s posh house but you can’t seriously miss him.”

Sherlock winced. It was the closest John had come to the truth - however mockingly - and he knew that he wasn’t allowed to make a false move now. “Why would I miss my brother?” he asked while shaking his head with an irritated expression. He didn’t even lie because Mycie was not his brother anymore. Not in his heart.

“That’s what I’m saying. He will be here often enough to stick his big nose in our matters anyway so you won’t _have_ to miss him… And it’s typical for him that he didn’t come over today and help you settling in and getting everything done for tonight.”

“Well, he will come over later as you know, but he’s working. And perhaps you should decide if you want to complain about him being here too often or not often enough.” _So much for not making a false move…_

“U-hu boys, is everything ready? Oh look how nice this is! You did a great job with these pretty balloons!” Martha came into the room, carrying a plate with sandwiches, unknowingly saving the situation once more.

“I’ll help you fetching the food,” Sherlock offered and turned to John. “Why don’t you take care of Rosie and then search for some nice music?”

The doctor nodded with a smile and Sherlock knew that he still didn’t have a clue. He followed Martha into the kitchen. He should have been relieved but he felt only miserable.

“How are you doing, Sherlock?” she asked him after closing the door behind them. It was the first time that they were alone on that day.

“You really want to know that?” he asked back. He heard that his voice was trembling.

“Oh Sherlock, so bad? Come, sit down with me for a moment.”

“It’s…it’s as if there was a knife sticking in my heart. I just can’t believe that tonight I will see him and pretend nothing has changed between us, and when this fucking party is over he will go home and I’ll have to sleep in my empty bed. Oh, sorry for… this word but…” He felt tears appearing in his eyes and knew that if he didn’t succeed in getting his senses together at once, he would sit here crying like a baby when their guests showed up…

“My dear, my sweet little boy. Listen to an old lady who has seen a lot of misery. I know it’s going to be very tough, especially tonight, but it will get better.”

“No, it won’t. I can’t live without him anymore, Martha, he’s… You know, I took drugs to forget how I felt about him, and now _he_ is my drug, and nothing else counts anymore. I love him so very much.”

“And he feels the same for you, and you shall never forget that. He will not let it happen that you will lose what you have now. Trust in him, Sherlock, and try to wake up the part in yourself that existed before you found this love. You’re still yourself and you can continue without him being around all the time. You know that you will be able to see him and that’s what you should look forward to, but you should not build your entire life around him.”

“But that’s the point, Martha, he _is_ my life. Everything else is dead now. It was so hard to go on with not seeing him during the days already and now we will not even have the nights.”

“Perhaps with a little more distance you will realise that a little of the old Sherlock is still left and will help you getting through the times without him.”

“I hope that you’re right. I can really just hope that. Because if not…” He broke off and saw a shadow fall over her already concerned-looking face.

“Sherlock, don’t even think of that. If not for you, then for him. He would not survive that.”

Sherlock wasn’t sure himself if he had just meant the possibility of taking drugs again which was what he had thought he was referring to, or ending his life as his landlady apparently assumed. Whatever it had been, it _would_ kill Mycroft… “I’m sorry, Martha, don’t worry.” His voice sounded completely toneless.

She looked at him with sad eyes. “But I do, Sherlock, I really do. If you ever come close to doing something like that, talk to him, and talk to me. We will never let you down.”

“Hey, Lestrade is coming. Shall I help you with the plates?” John shouted from outside the room. Probably he’d been standing at the window, waiting for their guests.

“No, we’re fine.” Sherlock stood up and so did Mrs Hudson. “Thank you, Martha. I will do that.” He brought two plates of finger food into the living room, and John let the DI in.

“Hi Greg, you’re the first,” Sherlock heard him say and took a deep breath. Finally time to pull himself together.

“Hello Sherlock, man, this looks awesome! Hey, you even have the smiley face back!”

“Yes, and Sherlock shot it again,” John informed him.

“It looked stupid without the bullet holes,” Sherlock said. In fact it had felt great to fire against the wall, at least letting some of his frustrations out…

“Oh, I brought you this,” Lestrade said and offered Sherlock a piece of wood.

Sherlock took it and looked at it. “Well, that’s nice but…” What the hell was he supposed to do with that? Hammering it on Lestrade’s head?

“It’s traditional, Sherlock,” John told him with a smile. “You give that to people when they move into a new house or flat. It was for the fireplace in older times so it would be warm.”

“In fact it’s our _old_ flat, it’s just been renovated. And it’s _summer_ and we have _electric heating_.”

“Thank you, Greg, let me store this.” John reached out and Sherlock handed the wood over to him.

“You want a beer?” Sherlock asked the policeman, knowing he would never understand or care in the least for such silly traditions.

“Oh yes, please. Oh, and you were right of course.”

Sherlock provided him with a Heineken and sent him a questioning look.

“I’m talking about the fourteen-year-old boy from Kensington. He did kill his grandmother.”

“Oh, that. I’m glad to hear that.”

“Well, I find it rather disgusting.”

“You know what I mean. I’m glad that I was right.”

“As if you ever were not. Are you okay, Sherlock? I was about to ask you that for some time now but, you know…”

The detective tensed. “Why would I not be?”

“I don’t know, you always seem to be so absent nowadays; you don’t get on my nerves anymore with getting cases, you seem… as if you were a million kilometres away. I know you’re above anybody else but even for you it’s unusual to be that off.”

“I don’t have any idea what you are talking about. I’m here, Grant. Back to Baker Street, everything is like it has to be.” Sherlock knew that he sounded toneless at best again but he found it much harder than before to fake feelings he didn’t have - such as being happy or interested. Probably because he couldn’t show the feelings that he did have now - such as being head-over-heels in love and totally pissed off that he was not allowed to tell anybody or to be with the man of his life whenever he wanted, which was always.

“Right, Sherlock. You sound totally fine. Cheers.”

Angelo (bringing a delicious Italian dessert), Bill Wiggins (with some dubious alcohols) and Mike Stamford (a bottle of expensive wine) were the next ones to arrive, followed by Anderson (without anything) who immediately urged Sherlock to sit at a table with him to tell him a long story about his last crime scene. Sherlock pulled himself together at least well enough to make surprised noises or nod when it seemed required.

“Hello, Sherlock.” He looked up and saw Molly Hooper standing in front of him with a shyly-looking young man at her side. In opposite to the last one, he had no resemblance to Sherlock at all. He was not much taller than the pathologist, had reddish hair and a lot of freckles; he was carrying a huge plant.

“This is Martin, I know you will forget his name in a second or probably you already have, anyway, John said I could bring someone.”

“Hi Martin. And yes, of course, why not.” He couldn’t recall if John had told him; he did know that the doctor had suggested who should be invited over. He had even thrown Sherlock’s parents in after complaining about the embarrassingly short list of people, but the detective had blocked that idea in an instant. If he didn’t have to see them ever again except for their funerals, he would be grateful… But he knew that he wouldn’t have so much luck…

“Yes, why not… Why would you care.” He vaguely registered that she sounded a little bitter.

Sherlock stood up. “I’ll get you something to drink. Beer?” He reached for a bottle.

The guy nodded. He had not said a word so far.

“Molly?”

“Wine, if you have?”

“Sure. I will be back in a minute.” Sherlock went to the kitchen. He hadn’t noticed that Molly had followed him until he closed the door of the fridge and saw her standing in front of him. “Oh, you could have waited, I’ll bring you the wine.”

“Sherlock, you didn’t have to avoid me all the time, you know?”

“Sorry what?” He was genuinely surprised.

“I knew that you didn’t mean it, it’s fine.”

“Mean what?”

She huffed out a sceptical laugh. “Oh, I should have known you cannot even remember it. I’m sorry - I made an idiot out of myself once more.”

“Oh, that, sorry, no of course I didn’t forget it.” He guessed she was referring to this forced _I love you_ at Sherrinford. He just had not thought about it a single time after that day…

“If not because of that, then why have you never come to the morgue anymore? Since - how long - seven weeks?”

“I just didn’t have a case that justified that.”

“I thought we were friends, Sherlock. You don’t need to justify saying hello.”

Had she always been that annoying? What the hell was he supposed to say to that?

“Something changed in your life, didn’t it? Something important. Something that made you forget that we did become friends.”

Sherlock froze and remembered Martha’s warning words about Molly’s sensitivity. He didn’t even want to imagine what could happen when Mycroft would come over later. He knew that he should text him and tell him to stay away. Only that Sherlock would never do that…

“Oh, hi Molly. Sherlock, can you hand me the whiskey while you’re at the fridge?” The doctor stood in the door, smiling at him.

Happy about the interruption, Sherlock hurried to get the bottle and handed it over to John. An idea hit him. “You’ll need some ice, too.” He opened the freezer, grabbed some ice cubes with his hands and managed to flip two of them into the collar of John’s shirt when his flatmate reached out for them.  The doctor almost dropped the bottle and yelped. “Oh, so sorry John, let me get them out.” Sherlock grabbed into John’s shirt, reaching for the ice that of course had dropped down to his muscular stomach. He made sure to let the cubes slip away a couple of times, reaching down to the waistband of John’s briefs, rubbing over his six-pack with his fingertips, touching the line of hair that was leading from his navel to his pubes.

John was wincing and shivering from head to toe, his right hand clinging to Sherlock’s waist hard, and he was stuttering Sherlock’s name again and again, but he was not smart enough or perhaps too shocked to just rip his shirt out of his jeans to let the ice fall on the floor.

“I got them,” Sherlock declared, making sure to let his fingers slide over his flat belly once more and to touch John’s right nipple with his thumb when he took his hand with the cubes out. He looked into John’s face and saw the doctor’s wide open eyes. “Oh, I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have touched you.” He could feel that his own cheeks were flushed because of the intimate contact, but that was nothing compared to John’s dark red face. Sherlock looked down with his best sheepish expression – and realised that John had reacted to his naughty assault…

“That’s no problem,” John quickly reassured him with a trembling voice, obviously feeling totally uncomfortable, stepping from one foot to the other. “I told you it’s fine, I don’t mind you touching me, I was just…” All at once he glanced over to Molly, who stood next to them with a more or less horrified expression, and his face got even redder; apparently the doctor had completely forgotten that she was there.

“I know you did but…” Sherlock said quietly. “It’s so embarrassing. Excuse me for a moment, please.” With this he threw the cubes into the sink and left the kitchen, leaving the other two behind, feeling a little proud of himself.

*****

“And please remind me to see Hal Stuart tomorrow, he should be back in the office,” Mycroft said and reflected about what else he had to think of before he could call it a night. Anthea typed into her phone what he was telling her, both of them were sitting in the back of the car that was bringing them back into the city after a very secure meeting with the head of the MI6 twenty kilometres away from London.

It had been a long, exhausting day. The Prime Minister had blown his entire schedule with an unexpected meeting. According to him, a hacker had succeeded in getting into the computers of Buckingham Palace. Nobody knew so far which problems he might have caused. But that had not kept anyone from taking to throw in the wildest speculations. Mycroft had been about to ask if the intruder could have possibly gotten access to nude pictures of Camilla and Charles, but he had contained himself.

He had texted with Sherlock occasionally but didn’t have time for a longer chat. Even in his texts it was evident that Sherlock was not doing well, and Mycroft hated to not be able to cheer him up. He wasn’t in the mood to go to the housewarming party; he would have preferred by far being alone with Sherlock, but he knew that it wasn’t going to happen that night. They had made love almost desperately the night before, causing him to not have much sleep, and he knew that it was visible in his pale face. He couldn’t even imagine how it would be to return to an empty house, to sleep in his bed all alone, even though he had done it all his life before things had changed so drastically.

When he was sure that he had not forgotten anything essentially, he and Anthea fell silent. He absently looked out of the window without really paying attention to the triste, ugly quarter they were just squaring, trying to prepare himself to meet Sherlock’s so-called friends and to behave as little suspiciously as possible. He could only hope that Sherlock wouldn’t be all over him in the moment he came through the door… But he was Sherlock Holmes after all and knew what was at stage…

The car had just stopped at a red light when he heard Anthea murmur something that sounded suspiciously like _fucking bastard_. Very surprised he turned his head to her but of course she had not meant him. She was looking out of the window to the pavement, and Mycroft followed her gaze to a middle-aged man with an apparently young black-and-white dog. Mycroft could not hear him but from his face it was clear that he was shouting while he was ripping at the leash frantically, and then he kicked the dog and Anthea gasped in horror.

Mycroft opened the door of the still standing car. “Please wait for me around the corner,” he told the driver.

“Of course, sir. But shall I not come with you?” It was clear that he had seen it, too.

“No, I will take care of it.” He left the car, walked around it and saw Anthea already standing next to it. “You should wait in there,” he told her but she shook her head.

“I wouldn’t want to miss that for anything in the world,” she told him, and Mycroft raised his eyebrows. She just smiled and hurried to follow his long steps towards the man. _Around fifty, worker, full of frustrations, minor intellect, not married and outright mean_ , Mycroft deduced.

Now his voice was impossible to overhear. “You fucking rat, I will show you to behave!” He stroke out to kick the whining dog once more.

“I would not do that if I was you,” Mycroft said, loud enough to make sure that he would be heard, but not really raising his voice. Usually the Iceman-voice was enough to scare people to death. But it didn’t work this time. Some people were just too stupid obviously.

The man turned around so fast that he almost lost his balance. “And why is that, you snobby arsehole? You will choke me with your fancy suit if I do?”

“I would never allow my Armani suit to collide with someone as dirty and disgusting as you are.”

“What?” The man opened his eyes widely, his face red like a tomato.

“Let me say it in a way that even you understand it: if you touch or kick that dog one more time, they will carry you away on a stretcher.”

“It’s my fucking dog and I'll do whatever I want with it!”

“No, you won’t.”

“You want to hinder me? You fucking faggot!” He made a step towards Mycroft who had cringed at the somewhat accurate insult. Perhaps the guy was not so stupid after all… Well, of course he was even if he got that one thing correctly.

“Oh, please come and hit me,” Mycroft said with a voice so cold that it could have turned the sun into ice cream. “You will give me the perfect reason to rearrange your bones. And my assistant will testify it was self-defence.”

The man glanced over to Anthea, who shook her head. “No sir, I will testify that he attacked you if you tore him apart right away. Don’t let him ruin your suit first.” _Good girl…_

“You yellow bastard!” His voice was trembling. Perhaps he was starting to realise that he made himself an enemy he should not underestimate, but he was too stubborn to give up so easily.

“Oh, please, you are beating and kicking a _puppy_ and _I_ am a coward? If you’re interested in dealing with someone your size, come and show me.” Mycroft discovered that he was just waiting for a false move so he could beat the crap out of this piece of shit. Of course he was not really his size as he was at least two heads taller than this poor excuse for a man…

“Ah, you just talk! I know you sissy gays, you could not even beat a fucking fly! You could ruin your nails!”

The kick came fast and brutal. Mycroft had not practiced Kenpo for almost twenty years, but he had apparently not forgotten everything. The guy flew back and landed hard on the asphalt, lying on his back like a huge and very ugly bug, rubbing his bloody chin.

Mycroft stepped to him slowly. “I thought kicking might be better as I _really_ hate to ruin my nails. You want some more?”

“Take it!” he spat out. “Take the fucking dog. I don’t want it anymore.”

“I congratulate you to your wise decision.” Mycroft bent down and took the leash that had fallen out of his new friend’s hand. The dog looked up to him with sad but trustful brown eyes. “Come, little boy,” Mycroft said softly. The dog didn’t need a second order and walked next to Mycroft and Anthea to the waiting car as if he belonged to them.

The driver had dogs at home, and after a quick check he told Mycroft that the dog was probably not injured and was looking as if he had at least gotten good food and had been combed not too long ago.

“What will you do with him, sir?” Anthea asked when they were moving again.

Mycroft smiled, looking at the little animal on his lap. “Oh, I know the perfect place for him. And Anthea, thank you for your support.”

“It was my pleasure. Is there anything else I can do?”

“Since you’re asking, I'll need to buy a few things for his new home. Could you look up a store nearby that is still open and come there with me? I know your work day is over but…”

“Of course I will.”

“Actually, I will bring him to my brother. He moved back into his flat today and is having a little party tonight. Would you like to come there with me? I could need a hand with the dog and his equipment, and I’m sure that we’ll get something nice to eat there, too.” Too late he realised that he had sounded as if he was asking her out for a date, and he felt his cheeks blush. They had never spoken about any private matters before, and he had no idea if she knew that he was really a gay man. He also didn’t know if she was married or attached and could feel offended or even harassed by his offer.

“That sounds good, thank you, sir. And I’m sorry…” Her voice went quiet with the last word.

“Sorry for what?”

“What he called you… You should have kicked him several times more just for that.”

“Well, actually he was right about that…” It was his chance to set things straight. Or rather – gay…

“Oh, I didn’t mean that. But nobody should be allowed to be so rude to you or any other homosexual man. And the kick was really awesome!” She was typing on her phone without even looking at it.

Mycroft laughed. “Thank you. Perhaps he has just learned not to underestimate a _faggot_...”

*****

Forty-five minutes later, the driver dropped them in front of 221. Mycroft carried the huge bag with the equipment they had bought while Anthea had the dog on the brand-new leash. He sniffed around and seemed to have forgotten his cruel treatment already and behaved like a happy, healthy, little chap. Mycroft had to admit that he had fallen in love with him at once and he knew that Sherlock would do, too.

He decided to let them in with his key. On the stairs they met Mrs Hudson, who was carrying some empty bottles. “Oh, Mycroft, how nice! Just go upstairs! Nice to meet you, Miss…?”

“I’m Anthea Hunter, Mr Holmes’ personal assistant, nice to meet you, too; you must be Mrs Hudson.”

“I am, dear, and oh, who is this cute little guy? Isn’t he lovely!”

“He’s for Sherlock,” Mycroft said. “If that’s okay for you?” He knew that he should have asked her before, but as he was sure that she would do everything for his brother, he did not expect her to reject the dog.

“Of course! What a great idea! Go upstairs, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Mycroft thanked her and they continued their way to 221B. When they entered the corridor of the flat, he put the bag into a corner, and Anthea handed the leash over to him. They went into the living room, and none of the small group of people in there noticed them at first. Mike Stamford was obviously telling a funny story and everybody was standing around him and listening, giggling or at least looking amused. Except for Molly Hooper, who leaned against the wall, looking stone-faced.

And except for Sherlock. He was sitting at a table all alone with a drink in his hand; his expression was a mixture of absolute boredom and sadness. This glance at his lover’s face without him knowing Mycroft was watching him told Mycroft all he had to know about how Sherlock was feeling. He finally realised that Sherlock was not exaggerating when he said he didn’t care for anything or anyone but him anymore. Those people, except for a guy Mycroft had never seen before - perhaps Miss Hooper’s latest attempt to getting a boyfriend - all considered themselves to be Sherlock’s friends. But with the exception of John - and in all probability not even him - Sherlock apparently really couldn’t have cared less about them. Mycroft felt a strange mixture of sentiments: being flattered that Sherlock had chosen him above anybody else, being horrified about the responsibility that this fact was burdening on him, and a sheer heart-ripping love for this beautiful, young man he was calling his own.

Then the dog gave a small _woof,_ and Sherlock looked up. His eyes met Mycroft’s and they brightened up in a way that caused Mycroft’s heart to jump, and he stood up quickly, almost overturning his glass. He hurried to him and froze when he saw the dog that was wagging its tail and pulling at the leash to be able to sniff at Sherlock’s leg.

“Mycie?” He was apparently searching for words.

Mycroft was very aware that Anthea was standing right next to him. “Brother. Are you enjoying your party?”

“Is this your dog?” Sherlock asked Anthea and she smiled.

“No.” She looked over to Mycroft.

“I brought him for you, Sherlock. Do you like him?”

Sherlock kneeled down and the puppy immediately started licking at his chin. “Like him? He’s adorable! I don’t know what to say.” His eyes met Mycroft’s and the love in them almost overwhelmed the older man.

“Oh, look - a dog!” somebody said, and soon everybody was standing around them, chatting and making fuss over the dog that seemed to love being the centre of attention, but he didn’t bark or jump into people’s faces. Mycroft had let the leash fall down and had made a step back so he wouldn’t get run over by the enthusiastic people.

“Wow, that’s really an original gift, Mycroft,” the doctor said.

A little late Mycroft wondered if John liked dogs at all - perhaps even if he did he wouldn’t fancy the idea to have one in his flat because of the child. But Mycroft was sure that they could work that out. And if it bothered John really so much, he could leave anytime…

“Rosie will love him,” Sherlock said.

“Yes, I think so, too,” John agreed to Mycroft’s relief. “He seems well-behaved and very nice. Where did you get him from?”

“Well, that’s a long story… Let’s say I didn’t buy him. I would love to keep him myself but you know I can’t.” He looked to Sherlock.

“We will share him then!” Sherlock said, his blue-green eyes sparkling. As dead as they had looked two minutes ago, as lively they were now. “He will stay with me during the day and you can visit him anytime and take him in the evenings.”

Perhaps bringing that dog had been an even better idea than Mycroft had thought… “That sounds good to me. If you can live with having me around that often and meeting to exchange the dog?” He would have to buy everything he just purchased a second time, and he would do it with pleasure.

“Well, I surely will be able to endure that,” Sherlock assured him. “I can imagine you don’t want to give him up. He’s so cute. Oh, what’s his name at all?”

Mycroft smiled. “I’m afraid I didn’t ask. You can give him any name you want.”

“Oh no, we will have to decide that together, remember it’s _our_ dog. But I will need a basket for him and food and…”

“I have collected everything he’ll need on my way here, let me get it. Where do you want to have his stuff?”

“In my bedroom of course.”

“Alright, go ahead with him, I’ll be there in a minute.” He turned to Anthea, who was holding a glass of wine that the doctor had given her. “I’m fine,” she said with a smile. “And I’m starving so I will see what I find for dinner.”

“Oh, let me help you,” John offered, and Mycroft grinned about her playful eye-rolling.

Then he hurried to grab the bag from the corridor and went straight to Sherlock’s bedroom at the end of the flat. He closed the door behind him and Sherlock was clinging to his neck in a second, pressing him against the door, his lips meeting Mycroft’s for a hungry kiss.

“I missed you so much,” Sherlock whispered into his mouth.

“So did I, darling, so much…” Sherlock tasted like whiskey and tuna fish and Mycroft loved it. He gasped when Sherlock opened his zipper and reached into his trousers to free and stroke his hardening cock. “We can’t do this now with all the people so close,” he protested, and in the next second he moaned when Sherlock rubbed his leaking slit with his thumb.

“I’ll make it swift,” he promised and then he was on his knees and swallowed Mycroft’s dick down to the root with one movement. Mycroft lifted his hand to bite in it so his moans wouldn’t echo through the flat.

“The dog,” he mumbled and looked to the little guy who watched them with curious eyes.

“He will have to get used to seeing that anyway,” Sherlock replied calmly while he masturbated Mycroft’s pride with a strong right hand and then he sucked at it so hard that Mycroft was pushed over the edge, hardly able to suppress a cry. He climaxed into Sherlock’s willing mouth while grabbing his head harder than he wanted.

“Sorry,” he said when he was able to talk again, his body sacking heavily against the door.

Sherlock was up and embraced him again. “Never say sorry for your passion, Mycie.” He rubbed his own bulge through his black jeans. “But what shall I do with that?”

There was no way that Mycroft could have left his man with a throbbing hard-on. He deep-throated him while Sherlock was sitting on the bed, leaning backwards and resting on his hands, his head bent in pleasure. Mycroft knew that this was madness - how easily somebody could walk into the room, and locking the door wouldn’t make it any less suspicious. But there was no stopping, too much had he missed his lover during the day and too much he feared having to spend the first night since they had gotten together without him. At least this had to happen. And they were lucky. Sherlock came as fast as Mycroft before and managed not to scream when he emptied his load into his mouth.

“See, we stayed totally clean,” he said when he closed his jeans, still panting.

“Indeed. We just shouldn’t breathe at anyone now.”

Sherlock giggled. “And you better don’t kiss anyone. Except me of course.”

“I did not plan to. How was your day, Sherlock?”

Sherlock’s smile fell apart. “Horrible. It was just horrible. Until the moment I saw you. You and this little baby here.” He bent down, took the dog on his lap and started to stroke the small head. “Where did you get him from?”

And Mycroft told him what had happened and he was happy to see Sherlock’s expressions during his explanations. “I’m so proud of you, Mycie. That was so cool. I wish I’d been there when you kicked him.”

“Yes, me too. How shall we call him, Sherlock?”

“I know it’s not too original but there’s only one name that comes to my mind.”

Mycroft raised his brows. “You want to call a black-and-white dog _Redbeard_?”

“Oh Mycie, that proves that even your deductions are wrong sometimes. No, that is past. I’d want to call him _Lucky_. Because he was so lucky that you rescued him and made him our baby.”

Mycroft smiled, kissed his cheek and rubbed the dog’s ear. “That’s very nice. So that’s what we are now, Mummy Sherlock, Daddy Mycie, and baby Lucky.”

“Why am I supposed to be Mummy? You could be Mummy!”

“I could. But I don’t know - with your long curls and these lips, you'll have to be Mummy.”

“Alright, I will be. I’m glad you didn’t mention my tits.”

“Oh, don’t worry, they are all male tits. But Sherlock…”

“Yes?”

“You remember when we had ice cream together?”

“Of course. You were jealous because of this stupid guy with his phone.”

“Yes, but that’s not what I meant. You asked me if I’d still find you attractive if you shaved off your curls.”

“Oh, that. Well, if I did, you would at least not call me Mummy anymore. Of course I can’t do anything about my lips so it probably wouldn’t help.”

“No, it wouldn’t but… when I asked you if you really wanted to do that, you said, you would perhaps one day, if you were lucky. What did you mean by that?”

“Has anyone ever told you that you have the memory of an elephant? But actually I don’t mind because you are also _hung_ like an elephant.”

“Sherlock, I…”

“U-hu, boys, you are being missed!” Mrs Hudson was apparently standing right before the door.

“We’ll be back in a second, Martha. We’ve just… arranged everything for the dog,” Sherlock answered while making sure that his zipper was where it was supposed to be.

“Oh I’m sure that you have. But if you don’t come back, John will come looking for you…”

They hurried to finally put the dog basket in a corner next to Sherlock’s bed and took out food and the bowls for food and water. Sherlock gave him one of the toys that Mycroft had purchased, and Lucky was happy to chew on it. “Let’s feed him in the kitchen,” Sherlock said.

“Tell me, Sherlock,” Mycroft demanded when they left the bedroom.

Sherlock turned to him, his eyes sad all at once. “I can’t, Mycie. I’ll probably never can.”

Mycroft looked after him when he went to the kitchen - for once not being able to deduce what he’d been talking about. But whatever it was, he would not allow him to suffer.

“I’ll make your Mummy very happy, whatever it may cost me,” he whispered to the dog that was looking up to him with these sweet, round eyes. “I swear I will.”

*****

“Well, that was a really nice party,” John said when they had almost finished tidying up after their guests had left.

Sherlock didn’t bother answering and collected two empty bottles. Seeing Mycroft go and being not even able to kiss him goodbye made him feel unbearably sad. They had stolen another kiss in the bathroom door after Sherlock had waited for him to come out of it earlier. He knew that Mycroft didn’t like playing with the fire like that, but he had needed it so much.

His phone chirped and he took it out at once.

_Don’t be sad, honey, we’ll see each other tomorrow. You'll have to help me finding the perfect place for Lucky in my house. I miss you already. So much. I hope that you can sleep. MH_

_I don’t want to sleep. I want you. I could sneak over to you. SH_

_Not tonight, Sherlock. I’m so tired. If you can’t sleep, remember what we did earlier. I love you so much, please remember that, too. I wish it was all different but it can’t be. MH_

_I know, you looked very exhausted. I’m sorry, I don’t want to be a pain in the arse. And I love you, too. SH_

_You are not at all a pain in the arse. I love to have you in my arse. Or to be in yours. I need to go to bed now. Try to sleep at least, if I can I'll send you some sweet dreams. MH_

_Goodnight, lover mine. At least I won’t have to be in bed all alone thanks to you. I can’t thank you enough for the little guy. Love you, SH_

_I’m glad you like him so much. And it was a brilliant idea of you to share him. My eyes are almost falling close, gotta go. MH_

_Sleep tight, Daddy Mycie. See you tomorrow. SH and LH_

“I’ll go to bed now, John, seems we are through with everything.”

“Yes, everything looks fine again. And I’m sorry for before, Sherlock.”

“For what?”

“For reacting so silly when you…” He didn’t finish his sentence.

“Oh, that. You have nothing to be sorry for, John. I should be sorry - I took advantage of the situation…” _Oh God… What a fucking charade._

“I explained it to Molly, you know - I had to.”

“Ah, that’s why she was so quiet the entire evening.” That or the fact she had watched him almost raping John in front of her…

“But, Sherlock…”

“Yes?”

“I guess you saw… what happened… to me.”

 _What, your raging hard-on?_ “I don’t know what you are talking about.” Why not be generous for a change?

“I got hard when you touched me!” John almost screamed.

“Oh really? I didn’t notice. But it was just a normal reaction. I did touch your bare stomach.”

“But I shouldn’t react to a man’s touch like that. I always thought I was totally straight but…” John looked at him with wide open eyes.

“Don’t worry about that. It doesn’t mean you are attracted to me.” _At least I hope that it doesn’t…_

“Maybe… we should… give it a try?” John blushed while Sherlock felt all blood leaving his face.

 _Oh dear God, no!!!_ “We should go to bed now. I’m sorry I’ve confused you like that. I will make sure to keep my hands to myself from now on. You know, it’s nothing we could just do and then you realise that it’s not what you want. It would… break my heart.” _And Mycie would break your neck…_

“Of course you’re right, Sherlock. I’m sorry. I still think… Anyway… Goodnight then.”

“Goodnight, John.” He fled into the bathroom and leaned against the door. Lucky had followed him and was looking up to him with questioning eyes.

“Oh Lucky, what did I wake up with that? Daddy Mycie would just explode.” He knew that he could never tell Mycroft what just had happened. Not that anything _had_ happened, but it had not sounded as if he was off the hook. “I need to talk to Martha - she’ll know what to do.” But he hoped that after sleeping over it, John would forget his stupid suggestion.

He got rid of his clothes and stepped into the shower. As if his life wasn’t complicated enough…


	13. Chapter 13

“Good morning, Sherlock!” John greeted him when he shuffled into the kitchen, followed by the tail-wagging, excited little dog. “I made breakfast, here, your tea.”

“Thanks,” Sherlock grumbled and let himself fall on a chair. He hardly gave Rosie a look who was sitting in her high chair, apparently already fed and clapping her hands together.

“My God, you look horrible!” John stated after getting a proper look at his flatmate’s face.

“Thanks,” Sherlock said again and sipped at his tea. He knew that it wouldn’t help.

“You’re not looking as if you had slept a lot.”

John had such a talent for stating the obvious. In fact Sherlock had not slept at all. Even the warm dog in his arms had not helped a bit to get over the fact that someone was missing in his bed. Or that it was just the wrong bed. He had reached out for his phone a hundred times during this horrible night, but he had not contacted his man. Too clear he had been about being too tired to continue their conversation, and too exhausted he had looked the evening before. So there had not been any comfort for Sherlock except for the very welcome addition to their little family. He didn’t really see them as mummy, daddy and child, they were just two gay husbands with a dog that they had loved instantly as if it was their kid. Cute, little Lucky would be the perfect excuse to see Mycroft in the evenings, but still Sherlock would have to survive these awful nights without him.

He startled when he felt John’s warm hand on his. “You know, you can talk to me about everything. I just hope that you don’t feel too uncomfortable with me around."

 _Yes, I do!_ “Not at all. You said yesterday that there’s a client who wants to show up at nine o’clock? Interesting story?”

“Well, I don’t know if it’s interesting for you, but he thinks his son is gay and in love with his teacher. He’s only fifteen so…”

Sherlock swallowed. “And he wants us to do what? Help him to bring the man into prison? It’s hardly my kind of puzzle.” And somehow he thought of Mycroft who had fallen in love with him when he’d been around the same age…

“I know but I thought you’d like to have a case to occupy yourself so you don’t have to think all the time of, you know, of me…”

Sherlock would have really liked to smash someone’s head on the table and he didn’t even care if it was John’s or his own… But in fact John was right, at least about the first part. He needed to have his brain work on something to not get crazy or run to the Cabinet Office and shout his love for Mycroft out loud.

“Alright, I don’t like it but I will meet this guy.”

“Excellent! He seems very wealthy so you can charge him double fees.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but grin. “You are a smart little bookkeeper, John. Not only a doctor and a soldier.”

John grinned back. “I’m a man of many talents. I like to think of myself as not one-sided.” His tone changed to being more intimate with the second sentence.

Sherlock tensed. That did not sound good… Apparently John had not forgotten his silly suggestion. He stood up abruptly. “I need to go… for a walk with the dog.”

“But you didn’t eat anything!”

“I’m not hungry.”

“Well, you’re hardly back here and fall back into bad habits already. And what about the dog? You must feed him.”

“Oh. Yes, of course.” Sherlock felt ashamed and hurried to fill one bowl with canned food and the other one with water. He was really a great mummy… But then, he'd never had to take care of anyone’s needs before, but he would learn it for this fuzzy, little guy. He watched the dog eat eagerly while John lifted Rosie out of the chair who immediately stretched to reach for the dog.

“Let’s go, little man,” he said when Lucky had finished his meal and slobbered up some water.

“Do you want me to come with you? We could pack Rosie in her buggy and…”

Sherlock just ran out of the flat, followed by the yapping dog.

*****

Mycroft was sitting on his chair, focused on his computer screen, reading and scanning and memorising the new data. At least he was trying to. His eyes kept refusing to stay open, and he was feeling not only tired but completely jaded.

The last night had been a nightmare. Only that one had to sleep to have nightmares… He _had_ fallen asleep after his texting with Sherlock, but an hour later he had woken up again. And Sherlock had not been there. Next to him, half over him, on him where he should have been. He had wanted to contact him dozens of times. But he hadn’t. He had been very sure that Sherlock wouldn’t be sleeping, either. But he knew that they had to get through this, get used to lonely nights, spent with longing for the other one - each of them by himself. Because there was no happy ending waiting for them. There was no rainbow light shining over their love. They would never come out of a church in identical suits, kissing each other in front of applauding wedding guests. Their forbidden love would always be just that: forbidden, hidden in the dark - too evil and horrific to ever be graced by society’s acceptance. He was still completely determined to make it work, and he didn’t regret a moment he had spent with his brother the last couple of weeks, and he did want to make him happy, but he knew how hard it would get and both of them had to accept it.

Finally he gave up trying to concentrate on his reports and buried his face in his hands, too weary to even think anymore. He had no idea how long he had been sitting there like that when he was startled by a concerned voice.

“Sir, are you alright? Can I help you?”

He looked up, feeling dizzy and disoriented. “Oh, Anthea.”

“I knocked but you didn’t hear me. Can I do anything for you?”

Mycroft sighed deeply. “No, thank you. I’m just pretty tired today. Perhaps I drank too much last night. At the party.” He cursed himself. He didn’t want her to think that he was a secret drinker but she had seen how little alcohol he had drunk at Sherlock’s flat. So either way it had not been a good excuse… She would only think now that he was either really an alcoholic or just a liar…

“Perhaps this will cheer you up: the hacker has attacked Buckingham Palace again.”

Mycroft looked at her curiously. Why was this supposed to cheer him up?

Anthea hurried to continue. “He apparently placed pictures of Lady Diana on Camilla’s computer.”

They looked at each other and then both of them started to laugh.

“What is so funny here?” the voice of the Prime Minister echoed through the room. He was as usual followed by his assistant Albert Scott, who was shaking his head in disapproval.

“Well…” Mycroft started but then he realised that he didn’t have any excuse this time. His brain just didn’t work.

“Sorry sir, I just told Mr Holmes a little joke,” Anthea tried to save the situation.

“Well, you shouldn’t keep him from his duties. I’m sure that you spend enough time with him after work where you can entertain him.”

She blushed and Mycroft was awake all at once. “Is there anything I can do for you, sir?” he asked in an icy tone.

“Yes, you can tell your stupid MI5 people to find this hacker!”

Mycroft didn’t even try to hide his eye-rolling. “Because he is so dangerous? Don’t we have more important matters to take care of?”

“He is not just a clown who changes a desktop photo! He’s Robin Good!”

“Sorry who? You mean Robin Hood?” Had the man gotten totally mad now?

“Do you read your memos at all?! I thought you have such a phenomenal memory! Perhaps if you didn’t flirt with your sexy office chick and concentrate on your work you would…”

“That’s enough, sir. It might surprise you but I have to take care of hundreds of matters every week and as capable as I am, I’m still a human being and I have to focus on the most important affairs first, and _I_ decide what is important and therefore urgent and what can wait and has to be stored in the back of my mind. And speaking of affairs: Miss Hunter is my very competent and valued assistant and nothing else, and I'll ask you only once to not drag her name through the dirt with your groundless suspicions. And even though it is none of your business I'm telling you now that I am a homosexual man with a male partner and not the slightest interest in female attention. And if you excuse us now - we have to go through today’s schedule, and I will take care of everything necessary as I have done for the last **fucking fifteen years**!”

The silence after Mycroft had finished his rant was total. The PM stared at him with eyes so wide that Mycroft feared they would fall out of their holes and wobble over the floor; his assistant had opened his mouth to a huge O and cupped his own face with his hands, giving a perfect impression of Munch’s _Scream_.

Mycroft steeled himself for being fired at once. But the PM finally cleared his throat and turned to Anthea, who was standing between them with a face as pale as death. “I am sorry, Miss Hunter. What I said was totally inappropriate. I hope that you can accept my sincere apology.”

She nodded. “Of course, sir. Thank you.”

“No, thank _you_. And Mr Holmes… I know how worthy you are for our country. And I'll trust your judgement. I would be very grateful if you looked at the matter, when you find the time. This hacker has caused a lot of damage already and now he’s taken course on the Royal Family. I’m just worried.”

“I will, sir. And sorry for… my language.”

“Apology accepted. I didn’t know, you know... Anyway, have a good morning.” With this he left with his appendage, the door fell close quietly behind them.

Mycroft and Anthea looked at each other without saying a word for almost a minute. “You look very awake now, sir,” she finally stated.

Mycroft smiled. “There’s nothing better than a good shouting at your boss to wake your spirits. Oh, don’t take that as an order.”

She chuckled. “As my boss is the best I could wish for, there’s no danger.”

“I’m glad to hear that. So, as he’s right and I don’t have a clue: Can you tell me something about this _Robin Good_?”

*****

“Well, seems that was it for today,” John said. “Ten cases in one day, good job I’d say!”

“Yes…” Sherlock agreed absently. None of them had been interesting in the least. But if he was honest, not even if someone stole the crown jewels or kill the Queen, he would be interested. It was just a way to pass the time and earn some money. Almost like a real _job_ …

They were sitting in their armchairs in their brand new office and the last client had just left.

“Tomorrow I'll have the early shift,” John reminded him. “But Rosie will go to daycare so you can meet some clients by yourself. Listen Sherlock, I need to talk to you.”

Sherlock tensed. That was not a good start… He tried to find an excuse so he’d be able to leave, but it was too early to go to Mycroft, and Mrs Hudson had brought back Lucky from a walk and a visit to a dog parlour half an hour ago so that wasn’t an option either.

“You know, about yesterday…” John continued.

“Oh, don’t worry about that. I already forgot about it. Perhaps I'll go running for a while now.”

“You remember the DVD that Mary sent me after Sherrinford?” John kept on talking as if he hadn’t said anything.

Sherlock let himself sack into the chair. “Yes, of course.”

“You do recall what she said, about us?”

“Yes, she said I was a junkie who solved crimes to get high and you were the doctor who never came home from the war. And?”

“And before that, she said that if she was gone, she knew what we could become. We interpreted that as returning to our old habits, but what if she meant something completely different?”

“I don’t know what you are talking about.” But he did and he realised that his lie about being in love with John was about to explode in his face. And it was his fault all alone - Mycroft had explained to him that he couldn’t tell John directly but had to let him believe that he did love him but didn’t want to speak it out because he didn’t really want to _act_ on it. And as stupid as he was, he _had_ spoken it out, he even had successfully tried to _arouse_ John because he wanted to get rid of Molly. And now what?

“You are not telling me that Mary foresaw this situation and then what - gave her blessing for us getting together, out of the grave? Are you crazy?”

“No, it makes perfect sense! She knew how much we mean to each other and that it would take only one step to really be together! She knew that we fit together so well!”

 _Yes, but as friends!_ Sherlock was about to scream but the words stayed in his throat. He couldn’t say that because he had made John believe that he wanted more from him than friendship - while ironically enough he didn’t really care about even that anymore. “It’s silly, John, don’t you see that? She knew that you’re a straight man - why on earth should she suggest you should fuck another man?”

“Sherlock, don’t…” John went pale and tears welled in his eyes.

“You miss her and you want to be with somebody, but it can’t be me,” Sherlock said with forced softness.

“But… you want me,” John whispered, and Sherlock had never felt so _annoyed_ in all his life. Even more so as he had to stick to this lie.

“Yes, I want you,” he choked out. “But you don’t really want me, and it would hurt us both if we tried and failed.”

“But what if we didn’t fail?” John’s voice was almost inaudible.

Sherlock screamed internally for Martha to show up, but she had left to visit someone and wouldn’t be back to save him this time. He knew that he had to risk it all now, because for once talking was not an option. He stood up and ripped John out of his chair.

“Sherlock, what…”

With a fast move he pulled the doctor’s head close and kissed him, forcing his tongue deeply into his mouth that had opened in surprise, and letting his free hand grab John’s genitals brutally through his trousers. Two prayers were crashing through his mind: _Please let Mycie never know about that_ and: _Please let John react with disgust!_

John coughed and struggled to free himself, and after one more extra-hard squeeze to his balls, Sherlock let him go. The doctor breathed heavily and looked completely shaken, his face dark-red once more. “Oh God, what… Sherlock…”

“I’m sorry, John, I just couldn’t contain myself anymore. Or… did you like it?” _Please no!_

He saw John reaching down to his certainly aching testicles. And he realised that John had definitely _not_ liked it, but he wouldn’t tell Sherlock to not hurt his feelings. He would probably even suggest giving it another try…

“I knew that it wouldn’t work,” the detective hurried to say. “Thank you for letting me try it, I will keep my feelings for myself from now on. I’ll better go now.”

“No, don’t, you don’t have to go!” John kept him back and Sherlock closed his eyes. “I can’t chase you out of your home because I… cannot… return your desires.”

 _Thank God…_ “That’s nice of you, but I need to be alone now. And later I will bring the dog to Mycroft.”

“I understand. And I’m so sorry, Sherlock, for making you wrong hopes. I do find you very good-looking and you know I love you but probably… I can’t deal with… gay sex…”

Sherlock felt a deep relief but wondered for a moment whether the doctor had just not liked being kissed by a man or getting his balls crushed, or if he knew so little about gay sex that he thought now that it always was that rude. Whatever it was, he wouldn’t ask any further and instead be glad to have solved this problem. “That’s alright, John, and please, don’t tell anyone what just happened. Let’s be friends again, okay?”

“Of course I won’t tell anybody, and you will forever be my best friend!”

“Thank you, John, I really appreciate that. Bye for now.” He took the leash and Lucky followed him to the door as happy to get out as he was, just for different reasons.

He had hardly left the house when he spat on the pavement, just needing to get rid of John’s taste.

“That’s very gross, young man!” an old lady told him, and he hurried to apologise.

He decided to go over to Mycie’s at once. Of course he wouldn’t be there yet but Sherlock wanted to be waiting for him when he came home. And there was just no place he’d rather wanted to be. He took his phone out and texted him.

_Hi handsome, do you mind if Lucky and I go over to your house and wait for you? SH_

_Sherlock, if you ask me that ever again, I will get very upset. MH_

Sherlock smiled.

_Does that mean you don’t want me to go there? SH_

_Sherlock! MH_

_That’s my name! SH_

_Are you being a little difficult today? You want me to say it? Okay, you can be in my house whenever you want to and I’ll be so happy to come home and find you there. Preferably in the nude. MH_

_I love you, Mycie. SH_

_Oh, and don’t forget to bring the dog-stuff. SH_

_No, Anthea has already gotten it bought for me, it’s right next to me. MH_

_It’s nice to have someone who does everything for you, isn’t it? SH_

_Indeed. But I’ve got two of them, right? MH_

_I don’t suppose she’s doing the same for you as I do?! SH_

_Of course not. Even though… well, we'll talk about that later. MH_

_No, you'll tell me now what you meant by that! SH_

_Ah, nothing to worry about. I love you. And only you. MH_

_You are paying me back for the joke earlier, right? SH_

_I’m sorry, Sherlock, really, it was stupid of me to write that. It’s nothing. Gotta go into a meeting now. Talk later. MH_

Sherlock shook his head when he put his phone into his pocket. It seemed that they both had something precarious to confess to each other. Because he had just decided that he had to tell Mycie what had happened with John. He didn’t want to keep any secrets like this from his lover anymore. What if John told him that Sherlock had kissed him, for what reason ever? No, he couldn’t keep it from him. But he was not looking forward to his reaction… He stopped and stood still in the middle of the pavement, causing someone to run into him and curse. He really hoped Mycie would not tell him that he had kissed Anthea! He knew that he would crumble… But then he realised how stupid that was - Mycie would never do that. He was the only one to do such crazy things…

“Let’s go to the supermarket,” he told Lucky. He had decided to fetch some ingredients for a nice dinner. Everything to please Mycie. And to soothe him…

*****

When Mycroft opened the door with his key, it was not like the night before, when his house had been empty and silent and it had felt so awful to walk into it. This time he smelled some delicious cooking odours from the kitchen, and as soon as he had put the huge bag with the dog-equipment - volume two for his house - down and hung up his jacket, he was welcomed by a fuzzy little ball of energy that seemed to be very keen on being on his arm. Of course he obeyed and pressed kisses on the round little head and even enjoyed the warm tongue licking his chin.

“Where’s your mummy, little boy? Cooking for daddy?” he whispered in a small ear and walked on to look for Sherlock.

He hadn’t reached the kitchen when Sherlock came out of it with long steps. “I just threw the pasta in the pot when I heard you,” he said and grabbed his waist and kissed him. Lucky was happy to have both of his owners together and alternated licking their faces. Mycroft let the dog down carefully to kiss Sherlock properly.

“How was your day, honey?” he whispered and kissed along Sherlock’s jaw line to nibble at his earlobe.

“Oh, interesting. In a way… But why don’t we eat first? And have you brought Lucky’s stuff? He needs some food as well.”

“I did, I just dropped it in the corridor. Thank you for cooking, Sherlock, it smells great. It’s wonderful to have you here.”

Sherlock threw him a look full of love. “You know I love to be with you, and I thought the sooner we eat, the faster we will be in bed. And I wanted to do something for you instead of buying a ready meal or something.”

Mycroft pressed another kiss on his seductive lips and hurried to bring the bowls and the food and the basket for Lucky. They ate their really delicious pasta and talked about Lucky mostly, and Mycroft thought that Sherlock seemed to be a little more relaxed than at the evening before. Certainly it was just because they were together, alone except for the dog that devoured his own food beside the table, not once begging to have anything from them. As little as Mycroft liked his former owner, he had to give him credit for not doing everything wrong with him. Not that he would ever tell him should he have the misfortune to ever cross his path again. He would rather kick him once more…

“So, are you going to tell me now about you and Anthea?” Sherlock demanded after putting the plates into the sink.

“Me and Anthea - how that sounds,” Mycroft said with a grin. “But it seems some people think that she’s more than my assistant…” He told Sherlock what had happened in his office and wasn’t surprised when Sherlock laughed loudly.

“You really said _fucking_ to the Prime Minister? And you still have your job? Unbelievable. You must be really indispensable.” A shadow flushed over his face, so short that Mycroft had almost missed it.

“What did you think? That I had any interest in her?” he carefully asked. “You must be kidding, right? I would never touch anybody else, as little as you would.”

He saw Sherlock swallow hard. “It was not because of that,” he murmured, “rather because you can… Never mind. Would you like tea?”

“Sherlock, whenever you offer me tea or a drink, you have to tell me something unpleasant. Just go ahead.” He wondered what it was this time.

Sherlock stood up and took a glass out of the cupboard. “A drink, good idea.” He filled it with whiskey and handed it over to him.

“Alright.” Mycroft sipped at it and looked at Sherlock expectantly. Then he froze. _He didn’t tell anybody else, he can’t have done it…_

“It’s John, I…” Sherlock started.

“No, you can’t have told him!” Mycroft smashed his glass on the table and grabbed the armrest with his left hand so hard that he almost broke his fingers.

“What? No, of course not! I kissed him!”

Mycroft shook his head, hoping that he hadn’t heard correctly. “You kissed John.” His voice sounded shallow to his own ears.

“Yes. And I… touched his…” He broke off with flushed cheeks.

“Sherlock, if that’s a joke, it’s not a good one.” Mycroft felt the truth sink into his mind while he was still talking. Sherlock wasn’t joking; he had kissed the doctor, and touched a part of his body, and certainly it had not just been his shoulder…

“Listen, I will explain it to you. At first I didn’t want to tell you at all, but you said I shouldn’t have secrets from you so…”

 _Be careful what you wish for…_ ”Alright, I’m listening.” Was this the end now? Would it be now Sherlock and John and the baby? Instead of Sherlock, his perverse brother and a dog?

“I didn’t mention before that I told John I was in love with him a few weeks ago. It had actually just slipped my mind… I couldn’t go on with this _pretending you love him but don’t really say it_ stuff.”

Mycroft nodded. Of course he should have known that this was demanded a lot. Or was Sherlock telling him that he _had_ _meant_ what he had said? And that it had _just slipped his mind_?

“And yesterday, when you were gone… he said… maybe we should try it out, getting together.”

“Dear God… You said that he wasn’t interested in you in the least!”

“I was sure that he wasn’t! Anyway, today, after work, he said Mary would want us to get together and he seemed to be so keen on really finding out if we could be more than friends. And then I realised that I couldn’t talk him out of it, and I just grabbed his head and forced my tongue into his mouth so far that I swear I hit his palate. I’m surprised he didn’t throw up, and I reached between his legs and just pressed his balls together as hard as I could. And then he escaped me and apologised and said he could never do it and he was sorry for letting me believe that he could.”

Mycroft swallowed, feeling a relief beyond words. “So you didn’t kiss him because you… like him?”

“Mycroft! What the fuck! How can you think that for even a second?”

“Sorry, Sherlock, but when you said you kissed and touched him and that you told him you were in love with him I thought…”

“God, I’m so stupid, I’m sorry. But I thought you can deduce me!”

Both of them stood up simultaneously and searched hungrily for each other’s mouths, embracing each other like two men about to drown. Mycroft thought about Sherlock’s last sentence. Perhaps his strong feelings made it just impossible to deduce his man. Or he was simply too worn out for it.

After kissing for several minutes, Sherlock took him by the hand and dragged him upstairs. But Mycroft was not yet ready to go at it when they sat down on his bed. “And what will happen now?” he asked while both of them were unbuttoning their shirts.

Sherlock gave him a questioning look.

“With John! How can you go on living together after that?”

“Oh, don’t worry - I said I would keep my feelings for myself and he agreed to go on being just friends.”

“Unbelievable…”

“Why? Nothing happened - we tried and failed, just as I had predicted him.”

“But Sherlock, you must have hurt his feelings so badly!”

“No, I just hurt his balls. They will remind him of it for a while…”

Mycroft looked at him, wondering how it was possible that Sherlock didn’t even notice how cruel he had been to the doctor. John had offered Sherlock his heart and had received being manhandled not only physically. Of course, he had no idea that Sherlock’s so-called feelings for him were just a fake, and he had hit Sherlock more than once… “Did it feel good to hurt him?”

“Well, no. I could have lived without ever touching any intimate part of him, Mycie!”

“I mean, did you pay him back what he had done to you, beating you like that?”

Sherlock gave him a surprised look, then he seemed to take it into consideration. “No, I don’t think so. I did what had to be done to keep him from having such silly ideas and yet make him go on believing that I want him.”

“And what if he had reacted positively to it? Had responded to the kiss?”

“And liked his balls getting crushed? Come on. There was no danger.” But he didn’t sound too convincing in Mycroft’s ears.

“How far would you have gone to scare him off?”

“You seriously want to know if I had fucked him? Just forced my dick into him, unlubed and unprepared?”

Mycroft swallowed. Did he mean that? Yes, he did… and Sherlock knew it.

And it seemed to really bother him. “No, because that wouldn’t have worked! Because I would never get hard for him.”

“But you would have done it if you could have?” Mycroft had no idea why he kept asking…

“If you want to know if I had any qualms to do what has to be done to protect our love, the answer is, no, I don’t have any. I would go through hell and back to be with you.”

His hard look softened all at once and he touched Mycroft’s cheek softly. “No, I wouldn’t have fucked him - I’m not cheating on you, never. Even the kiss felt so wrong. But it did feel right at the same time, because I did it for us and it meant nothing to me.”

Mycroft thought that in this case, fucking John for the benefits of their relationship wouldn’t be any different. But he kept that to himself. It would not do anything good to insist on digging any further.

His head was spinning from what he had just heard. Ironically enough, learning that Sherlock had kissed another man had proven to him even more that the only one he wanted was Mycroft. How his relationship with John would go on was another question. No matter how stupid the idea had been, John had wanted to try to be with him and had been scared off in a very humiliating, disrespecting and heartless way. But as twisted as this was, it didn’t necessarily mean he would give up so easily. Mycroft would have to keep an eye on that. Only that he couldn’t… He would only know what Sherlock told him. What if John tried it again? What if Sherlock did get aroused enough to screw him? What if he liked it?

“Mycie.” Sherlock’s soft voice interrupted his thoughts. “You're forgetting who I am.”

“Sorry? Forgetting who you are?”

“I can deduce what you are thinking. And it’s not even difficult.”

“I’m sorry, I know I’m being silly. But… if you did have sex with him and if you found out you enjoyed it… life would be so much easier for you - you wouldn’t have to hide anything, you already live with him and his daughter and…”

“Mycie, shut up! I can’t believe I really have to say that, but it seems I do. I don’t want John. Not now, not before, and not in future. I want you. Now, tomorrow, next year and when I’m seventy. Even if I had to fuck John - which is not going to happen - do you really think after more or less raping him, dry and brutal, I would change my mind?” He pulled Mycroft close for a tender kiss. “I love you, Mycie. Now and forever. I swear John won’t be any problem anymore. And can we please stop now talking about him and enjoy the short time we are allowed to be together?”

Mycroft nodded and kissed him again, then pulled back to look into his eyes. His heart almost melted from the love he saw in them. And then he remembered seeing Sherlock around all the people he had used to consider his friends before they got together, and he once more wondered about how much this had changed. Sherlock had not shown the slightest interest in any of them, except for Mrs Hudson, who was probably more like a mother for him than their real one had ever been. It was not only that he was completely focused on him, Mycroft, now - it looked as if he had once more changed his entire personality.

A crazy thought came to his mind: had the man that Sherlock seemed to be during the last years, since John had appeared in his life, ever really existed? The man who had friends who cared for him and did everything for him? John, the doctor, who was so helpful when it came to examining a fresh body, and at the same time the soldier who was so brave to follow him into any danger; Lestrade, who gave him access to crime scenes and cases he would never be able to solve because without the DI, they would be out of his reach; Molly, the pathologist who gave him the opportunity to be in the morgue and to benefit from her expert knowledge; Anderson, who had all the equipment and the know-how for the forensics - had Sherlock really ever cared for either of them?

Mycroft knew that there were only two possibilities. Either Sherlock was indeed a _high-functioning sociopath_ as he had always claimed to be, calculating and cold, using people only for his purposes - or he had simply slipped off that persona of the more friendly, caring man he had been during the past years, after realising that all he wanted - and was now finally allowed to have - was his brother. He knew that he could just ask him. But he didn’t really care… In any way they were the same now: two Icemen who only melted for each other.

“Stop thinking, Mycie,” Sherlock startled him. “It doesn’t matter.” He kissed him thoroughly.

“No, it doesn’t. But one last thing about your _experience_ with John…” Mycroft whispered between kisses.

“Yes?”

“Perhaps I wouldn’t mind your treatment too much. On me I mean.”

“Wouldn’t mind what exactly?” Sherlock purred.

“Having my balls pressed.”

“Really? You’re into pain?” Sherlock’s eyes were sparkling with excitement.

“Not too much pain, but I think I would enjoy a little bit of it.”

Sherlock stood up quickly and got rid of the rest of his clothes and so did Mycroft. He lay down flat on his back with a pillow under his head and spread his bent legs widely to give Sherlock easy access to his genitals.

“God, you’re so beautiful,” Sherlock said quietly and positioned himself between Mycroft’s legs. He licked over his erect shaft first and sucked on the head while his right hand tickled his ballsack. “You tell me what you want me to do, okay?”

“Of course. Just grab the sack and stretch it a little for a start.” Mycroft closed his right hand around his dick to keep it out of the way and to stroke it while Sherlock started doing as he was told. It felt heavenly to have him pulling on the loose sack.

“Harder, yes, that’s good… And now, can you grab the sack right at the beginning and press it a little? Oh yes, just like that. Now slap the balls with the other hand. Yesssss.” Mycroft closed his eyes and enjoyed the totally new and exciting feeling. The pain was sharp yet sweet, and it was spreading out to and through his stomach. “God, that’s great. Just wish you had a third hand so you could penetrate my arsehole while you do that. Oh, why don’t you take a dildo from the nightstand?”

He continued stroking his dick while Sherlock took the toy and lubed it up. “Shame I didn’t bring the one you made for me. I will do that next time.” He winked and Mycroft grinned. Yes, then he could really _fuck himself_ … “I can’t let it slide in and out so I will put it in as far as possible so it will stay in place. And I’m already preparing you for my dick with it.”

“Oh yes, go on.” Mycroft closed his eyes when he felt the dildo slowly slide into his hole, inch by inch until it filled him up completely. And then Sherlock continued torturing his balls in this unbelievably exciting way while Mycroft was stroking his hard cock roughly, mixing pain with pleasure, increasing his arousal to an unknown level. It didn’t take him long to climax and it came so quickly that he shot his huge load on his own face. Sherlock came up to him and licked his cheeks and nose clean until they were only wet from his saliva. Mycroft’s hand was meanwhile constantly milking Sherlock’s hard, leaking dick until Sherlock pushed his hand away eventually.

“Get on your knees, Mycie,” he demanded, and Mycroft obeyed and presented him his arse, still filled up with the dildo. Sherlock pulled it out and replaced it at once with his dick, grabbed Mycroft’s hips and thrust into him with force, his strokes hard but never careless. He didn’t come into him but chose to shoot all over Mycroft’s back and lick it up as well. Mycroft felt him sack onto his body, and then they both collapsed on the bed.

“God, that was so great,” he heard Sherlock mumble into his ear.

“Oh yes …” He knew that he had to sleep for a moment now, and from Sherlock’s breathing he knew that his lover had already dozed off.

*****

Mycroft realised that hours had passed when he woke up; it was almost two o’clock. Sherlock was still sleeping next to him, his features relaxed, and Mycroft hated to wake him. But he couldn’t sleep over… He made light and dimmed it down. “Sherlock,” he quietly said and kissed his cheek. Sherlock just grumbled something, and he touched his shoulder. “Sherlock, baby, you need to leave.” Finally the detective opened his eyes and the hurt expression in them almost broke Mycroft’s heart. “You know that I don’t want you to go but…”

Sherlock sat up. “Yes, I know. Fuck this all!” He grabbed a pillow and threw it against the wall. “I want to stay with you!”

Mycroft saw that his eyes were streaming in tears, and he realised that his own were, too. Sherlock discovered that in the same moment and embraced him. “I’m sorry, I don’t want to be like that. I just miss you so fucking much when you’re not with me.”

Stroking his back and his tousled curls, Mycroft nodded. “I know, I feel the same. I love you so much, Sherlock.”

They stayed like that for minutes, pressed against each other so close that they could feel the other one’s heartbeat. Finally Sherlock freed himself and climbed out of the bed. “Will you bring Lucky in the morning or shall I take him with me now?”

“You know that I have to be at work very early, and as it is so late now, I’d say take him with you. But if you can, be back like you did yesterday; I'll try to be at home as early as possible.”

Sherlock nodded and got dressed. When he was finished - Mycroft stood before him completely naked - he searched for his gaze and they looked at each other for a long time, their fingers entwined. And they deduced each other, both open books for the other one. Mycroft could see pain, love, resignation, and yet the will to make it work, to fight for their love. And he knew that Sherlock could see the same in his eyes.

“Go back to sleep, lover mine,” Sherlock finally said with a pressed voice. “We’ll see each other in the evening.”

“Will you text me during the day?” Mycroft was so unwilling to let him go…

“Of course. And you call me if you can.”

“I will. Come home safe.”

“This here is my home, Mycie. The only home I’ll ever have.” He came to him once more and kissed him tenderly. “Bye, baby, please take care of yourself. And don’t beat up the Prime Minister.”

“I will try to contain myself. I’ll walk you to the door.”

“Naked?”

“Sure. There are no neighbours who could see me.”

Hand in hand, they walked downstairs, and Sherlock took the sleepy dog on his arm; he had been lying in his basket in the kitchen.

“What will you tell John if he’s waiting for you?”

“I will tell him I was in a crack den.”

“Sherlock!”

“He won’t be up, Mycie. Don’t you worry about him anymore. He’s under control.”

Mycroft was not so sure about that, but he nodded. They had reached the door and kissed each other once more.

“It will always be like that now, won’t it? If I’m lucky, I can see you in the evening, and at night you'll have to throw me out of your house because I can already tell you I will never leave by myself.”

“Sherlock, please…”

“I’m sorry.” The detective kissed him again. “I love you, Mycie.”

“And I love you forever, Sherlock. We’ll make it work.” He opened the door and Sherlock breathed one more kiss onto his lips, then he was gone.

Mycroft stood at the door for several minutes, still feeling his lover’s lips on his, and then he turned and went back to bed even though he knew that he wouldn’t sleep anymore.

*****

Sherlock decided to walk home, despite the late hour. It would give Lucky a chance to run around, and if anyone dared attack him, he would show him with pleasure how happy that would make him, given his black mood. He hated to make Mycroft feel bad, and he knew that he just had done that, but the situation was simply killing him. It seemed to him that his feelings for his lover were increasing with every single day, and being forced to be without him turned out to be even harder than he had expected. He knew that he was about to slip into a deep depression once more, and as it would hurt Mycroft, he couldn’t even find ease in taking anything.

Work was no help, either - he simply didn’t give a damn for it anymore. If Mycroft hadn’t insisted on Sherlock going on playing the clever detective, he would give it up in an instant. Only that he had no idea what else he could do; he had asked Mycroft this question and he hadn’t had an answer to it, either. And because of the important position that he was possessing, Sherlock could not even blame him.

He knew that he would be happy to be in Mycroft’s house all day, playing with Lucky, waiting for the man of his life to return from work, to cook for him and even do the housework. Only that nobody would pay him for doing that, and he didn’t want to depend on Mycroft’s generosity for the rest of his life; as he had told him, he didn’t want to be a burden for him. But of course Sherlock knew that these thoughts were redundant as he simply couldn’t give up his job and move in with Mycroft - how should he explain that to anyone? Which just lead back to the real problem: that they couldn’t tell anyone, never... It seemed to him that Sherrinford had not been the final problem. The final problem was how to get a real life with the man he loved… And this problem was so much more difficult to solve…

“It sucks, Lucky,” he said in a bitter tone. “It fucking sucks.” The dog looked up to him as if he agreed.

When they came near 221, all at once he realised the taste he still had in his mouth, and the fact that he had not showered after the sex. He could only hope that John would really not be up anymore and realise that he smelt of sweat and sperm...

Quietly he unlocked the door and made light. He shushed the dog upstairs, hoping he would stay calm. But when he set his foot on the first step, he heard the door of 221A open up.

“Sherlock? Is that you?”

“Yes, Martha, why are you still awake?”

“Please, can you come in for a moment? I won’t keep you for long.”

“Sure.” He wondered what the old lady wanted from him but of course he had a suspicion... He called the dog back quietly and followed her into her flat.

They sat down at the kitchen table, Lucky at their feet. Sherlock tried to keep as far away from his landlady as possible, but he knew that he looked deranged enough to show how he had spent this night. Not that this should surprise her but...

“Sherlock, what have you done with John? He was completely out of his mind this evening!”

So John had not told her, as he had promised, but apparently he was still suffering. “We... had a little... argument.” Not really the truth but something told him that Martha would not appreciate what he had done with John. He remembered watching Mycroft think about it, coming to the conclusion that he didn’t care. But then, he was the Iceman and Martha was a decent, caring lady.

“Sherlock, please don’t lie to me. You know I will support you with anything.” She really looked hurt.

“I’m sorry, Martha, I just thought I'd spare you the details. You would probably not be delighted.”

“You know you can tell me anything. Which doesn’t mean I will like everything you tell me, but you should trust me enough to know that I will never cause you any problems, especially not with your situation with your brother.”

 _He’s not my brother_ , he was about to say. But of course, in everybody else’s eyes, he was. He took a deep breath. “John has come to the crazy decision that he should try and be together with me, he thinks Mary wants that.”

“The poor honey, he is not over losing her by far.”

“Yes, well, I tried to talk him out of it, but it didn’t work. So I thought I’d give him the try he wished for.”

“Sherlock, what did you do? What would Mycroft say to that?”

“I mean, I pretended giving it a try. I kissed him and… touched him rather roughly… and he of course realised that he doesn’t want it and that’s the end of the story.”

“Oh Sherlock, John sat here where you are sitting now and cried. He didn’t want to tell me why but he was terrified. And he seemed to be hurting… down there.”

For a woman apparently familiar with _watersports_ she was sounding rather prude now…

“I did say I’d touched him roughly. I had to make a point. He needed to be scared off. And it worked. He even apologised for making me wrong hopes. We’re fine. He’ll get over it.”

“Sherlock, he’s your best friend!”

“No, he’s not. Mycroft is my best friend, in fact - besides you - he’s my only friend.”

She seemed to be searching for words for a moment, and Sherlock realised that she was really upset about him, and he couldn’t afford that in the least. If Martha, the only one who knew about them, wasn’t on their side anymore, things would get even worse than they already were…

But then she gave him a sad smile. “I understand why you thought you had to do that. And it seems your feelings are only focused on your lover now. But if you want to go on living with John, you'll need to treat him with more respect and care.”

_Who says that I want that? Who says that I care at all?_

She wasn’t through with nagging. “He kept coming down and asked me if I had heard anything from you. It’s clear to me now that he's convinced that you were staying away for so long because he'd hurt you.”

Sherlock just couldn’t have this conversation at nearly three o’clock in the morning. Especially not while being in such a dark mood. He stood up. “I'll need to go to bed now. I will talk to John tomorrow. Or later today actually…”

He started going to the door, followed by Lucky, but then he turned. “I appreciate everything you are doing for us - Mycroft and me - and I understand your concern for John. But this situation is as difficult as it gets, and I have to deal with it in the way I consider the best. I’m sorry if John is feeling bad about what happened, but he was just not willing to let it be.”

“But you told him that you were in love with him, Sherlock! He must have thought you wanted him to try to be with you, even if you told him to leave it. You were playing with his feelings for weeks now.”

“I couldn’t know that he had any feelings, and he, in fact, doesn’t. He’s only searching for a substitute for Mary, and that cannot be me! I am already in love with somebody, somebody I’d do everything for, just _everything_!”

She stepped away from him, and he realised that he had gotten too loud. “I’m sorry, Martha, I didn’t mean to shout at you. I just feel so…” He felt tears coming to his eyes. “All I want is to be with Mycroft, and this fucking world won’t let me. I have to be careful about everything I say, everything I do, I cannot stay with him overnight, and I fucking hate that!” He tried to keep his voice down but he hardly succeeded. “I love him so much, Martha, and he loves me all the same, and still we cannot be together without finding stupid excuses. What I did with John I did to maintain that bloody façade of wanting him so he doesn’t find out who I really want. He'll have to believe that I love him so I have a reason to be away from here, and of course I had to scare him off wanting me, because that wouldn’t make things much easier, would it! Please stay on our side, Martha, because eventually John will find someone who he really wants and can be happy with her, as I guess he doesn’t really want any man. But for Mycie and me, things will never change. We will fight and struggle and deceive and slowly go insane over it, and the best we can hope for is sharing some stolen moments and being able to hide our love from the world so nobody except you ever finds out because then Mycroft would lose everything, and we’d both go to prison for the horrible crime of loving each other.”

His voice broke with the last words, and she came to him and embraced him, and he allowed himself to give into her kindness. “Oh my dear boy, I’m sorry I gave you a hard time; I cannot even imagine how stressful and hurtful this situation must be for you. I really hope that you will find a way to be happy, despite all these difficulties. And I hope that you can find a level of dealing with John without causing him pain, because you’re both my boys and I don’t want to see either of you unhappy.”

Sherlock sighed internally; he freed himself and nodded. “I know what you mean. Goodnight for now, and thank you for your understanding.”

“Goodnight, Sherlock.” She didn’t look happy at all.

He finally went upstairs, feeling worn out and fed up with the entire situation. Why could they not leave him and Mycie alone, why did he have to waste his time on pleasing other people and act the way they wanted him to? As optimistic as he had been before at least about that, he wasn’t sure at all anymore that his relationship with John would ever be easy again, and he was afraid that Mrs Hudson would interfere even more. But he was too tired and too pissed off now to think about that.

He quietly went into the bathroom and took a short shower, wrapped a towel around his waist and brushed his teeth. When he opened the door, the doctor was standing in front of him, wearing only pyjama shorts, his hair tousled and his eyes swollen.

“God, John, why are you still up?” He felt his heart hammering in his chest.

“I… Sherlock, I’m so sorry for before, the way I reacted to you, and when you didn’t come home for so long, I was so worried you could have done something… bad because of me.”

 _Oh no…_ He was about to say that everything was fine, but he realised just in time that if he did that, how should he explain why he had stayed away for so long? “You already apologised, John, really… I… will be able to cope with it. I just needed some time away.”

“Where have you been so long?”

Sherlock suppressed his anger about John’s impertinence. “I brought Lucky to Mycroft but he came home very late and I just fell asleep.”

He shuddered when John ran a finger over his collarbone. “You have an ugly scratch there, Sherlock, please, tell me what you really did.”

Sherlock froze but forced himself to give a toneless answer. “That was Lucky. I think I'll have to see a vet to cut his claws a bit, and have him checked through.”

“That’s a good idea. So, you’ve not been… in trouble?”

 _No, but you will be if you don’t stop getting on my nerves…_ “No, John, and if you don’t mind, I would like to finally go to sleep now.”

“Sherlock, I… don’t want you to feel as if you had to flee out of your home just because I can’t… God, look at you, you are just _beautiful_.” His eyes wandered over Sherlock’s body as if he saw him for the first time.

Sherlock really felt like screaming now, and he became fully aware of the fact that he was _wearing_ just a rather small towel and that John stood there in shorts only. He instinctively grabbed the fluffy textile to make sure it wouldn’t slide down his hips, and he wondered what Mycie would think if he could see them now - both of them almost naked. Well, he knew exactly what he would think… “John, please, let’s not go down that road that again… I couldn’t deal with that. You would only reject me again because you are simply not into men. I can’t do anything about my feelings for you, but please don’t play with them.” He was very grateful Martha was not here to hear that.

“But Sherlock, if we just…”

“NO JOHN! If you go on like that, I will have to move out!” He almost wished John would touch him now. He would just grab the dog and move in with Mycie that very night.

“What, Sherlock, no! Please, I’m sorry, I will leave you alone now. I've never wanted to make you feel bad. Goodnight.” And finally he turned and went to his own room with stiff steps, apparently spreading his thighs…

Sherlock sighed so loudly that his deep voice echoed from the walls, causing Lucky to come from the living room, giving him a questioning look.

“Oh Lucky, what a fucking mess.” He opened the door to his bedroom, letting the dog in first, and smashed himself onto the bed. His hand slid over the scratch. It had not been caused by the dog but by his lover’s nails, but in fact seeing a vet was overdue. He would ask Mycie to come there with him if he was able to make time. At least a chance to be with him for a while during the day. His eyes closed already when he felt Lucky jump on the bed and snuggling against his arm. With a tender touch over the soft fur, he fell asleep.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This will be angsty...and smutty, okay...

Mycroft took out his phone once more, checking if he had missed a text from Sherlock, but there was no sign of life from him. He had tried to call him, but his lover’s phone had been turned off. He felt as if something essential was missing, as if he had forgotten an arm at home. Had Sherlock come home safe at all the night before? Why had he switched off his phone? He remembered the pained look in his eyes when he had woken him up to make him leave. He should have let him stayed... And he recalled what Sherlock had told him where his home was... It was breaking his heart...

He looked up when Anthea brought him coffee. “Thank you.”

“The minister of finance will be here in about ten minutes, sir,” she reminded him.

He nodded and tried to focus on his reports. As the meeting would be taking a lot of time, discussing the budget for the MI6 for the next year, he needed to get things done before. But then his phone chirped and he almost spilled his coffee when he took it out.

_ Sorry Mycie, I didn’t notice my battery was empty last night, and I just woke up. How are you today? SH _

Mycroft smiled, all at once feeling happy and relieved. Apparently Sherlock was not angry at him but just got enough sleep for a change.

_ Doing good, honey, I will be in a long meeting soon. Did you meet John already? MH _

_ Oh yes... But I wanted to ask you something. Don’t you think we should show Lucky to a vet today? Having him checked through and vaccinated; we don’t know if he has received everything. SH _

_ Yes, you’re totally right, I should have thought of that myself. I will have some time off after the meeting around lunchtime. I will ask Anthea to make an appointment at a vet near Baker Street, and I’ll let you know when and where so you can bring him, is that alright? After that we could have lunch together; I was about to suggest that when I called you. MH _

_ That sounds very good, handsome. Looking forward to see you. SH _

_ So am I. Will you come over in the afternoon like yesterday? MH _

_ You only want me to cook for you again. SH _

_ You got it. Getting used to my sedulous little housewife. MH _

_ Mummy, housewife... We'll need to discuss that tonight. SH _

_ I don’t think so. You will have your mouth full anyway. MH _

_ Have you always been such a sexist? SH _

_ I have no idea what you mean. But sex sounds good. MH _

_ You’re a hopeless case, Mycie... I should get dressed now and go downstairs and have a little snack before the clients are running in, and I bet I’m keeping you from doing your work. Text me the details or give me a call, alright? SH _

_ I will, sweetie. I love you. MH _

_ I love you, too. Very much. Talk later. SH _

Mycroft sat at his desk with a wide smile for a moment before he tried to concentrate on his reports again. He realised that it was getting more difficult with every day…

*****

Sherlock stared at his phone again. It was only five minutes until their appointment with Dr Webber, and Mycroft had neither arrived yet nor had he answered to Sherlock’s texts. Apparently his meeting was lasting longer than he had thought and he had no possibility to contact him. Sherlock shrugged and decided to go into the vet’s office alone. “Let’s go, boy,” he told the dog and went in.

He was welcomed by the receptionist and was urged to fill out a form. Which wasn’t very easy because he had no idea which breed Lucky belonged to (probably a mix of a shi-tzu and a spaniel; he decided to write that down) or how old he was (he guessed around eight months). He had no idea about any former treatments or vaccinations. He only knew that he loved the cute guy and that he was the perfect addition to his new little family.

“Hi, I’m Alicia Webber, please come in, Mr Holmes.” Sherlock looked up and saw a beefy woman with short, black her, about fifty years old, dressed in a rather tight t-shirt and blue jeans.  _ Lesbian, competent, married to a woman with long blonde hair, former boxer, very tough _ , Sherlock deduced while he was shaking her hand. When he was about to enter the doctor’s office, his phone chirped.

“Sorry, doctor, I suppose it’s my… brother, he wanted to be there, too.”

“No problem, go ahead. Just give me the form, and then I’ll take a look at the little fellow.” She lifted Lucky onto the examination table.

Sherlock handed the paper over and took his phone.

_ Sorry, Sherlock, the PM… Do I have to say more? I’ll be there in less than five minutes. MH _

Sherlock smiled and texted back.

_ No worries, honey, we just got started. Take your time. SH _

He directed his attention to the doc again who was looking at the form with a frown. “So you don’t know how old he is or if he was vaccinated at all?” she asked with surprise in her voice.

“Well, we’ve only gotten him two days ago,” Sherlock said. “We don’t know much about his past.”

“Alright, then I will give him all the usual inoculations and provide you with an anthelmintic therapy.”

She took a proper look at Lucky’s eyes and teeth and sampled his little body. When she touched a spot on his stomach, the dog whimpered. “He’s got a pretty bad bruise here,” the doctor said with narrowed eyes.

In this moment a sharp knock at the door let both of them startle. “Come in,” Dr Webber said, and Sherlock felt his heart make a little jump when Mycroft entered the room. He was wearing a light-grey suit and a purple tie, and he looked so good that Sherlock would have loved to throw him on the table and eat him up.

“Apologies for the delay, I just had an urgent meeting that I couldn’t leave.”

Sherlock put both hands behind his back, secretly reaching out for his lover with the left one, and Mycroft squeezed it quickly when he came to them.

“Mr Holmes, do come in. I was just telling your brother that the dog has a severe bruise on the abdomen.”

Sherlock caught Mycroft’s gaze. “Yes, well, my driver examined him and thought he was okay, and he didn’t show any signs of being hurt. But of course I should have brought him to a vet at once.” Mycroft softly touched Lucky’s head and smiled when the dog licked his hand.

The doctor looked puzzled for a moment, then she seemed to relax. “So you found him like that? Had he been hit by a car?”

Now Mycroft was looking confused. He turned to Sherlock. “I take it that you haven’t told her how I got hold of him?”

“No, I didn’t have a chance so far. And I thought  _ you _ would like to tell the story.” He still felt so proud of his lover when he imagined the scene; he hated to have missed it.

Mycroft shot him an amused look - of course fully aware of what Sherlock was thinking. “Well, I watched this man with him, mistreating him, even kicking him, and I interfered and convinced the guy to hand the dog over to me.”

Her eyes were full of anger. “I hope that you gave him a nice little punch,” she said through gritted teeth.

“No, he would never do that,” Sherlock threw in. “He rather kicked him, too, in the face as I believe.”

Mycroft grinned. “Well, it was nice to practice some martial arts again after that long time.”

The doctor eyed him approvingly. “Well done, sir. I’d love to meet him, too…” Considering her grim expression and the pumping of her big right bicep when she made a fist, Sherlock doubted that the guy would appreciate such a meeting.

Dr Webber took care of Lucky and provided him with all the necessary vaccinations, including rabies and distemper, clipped his claws, cleaned his ears and his teeth, and after all of that she handed the worm cure over to Sherlock.

After paying the bill, they thanked her and left to go to a small café around the corner where they could take Lucky in, too. Neither of them had ever been there, but of course they had to watch their actions as they were aware that Sherlock could always be recognised, especially in this area. They found a small table in a rather dark corner of the room and sat down opposite to each other. After ordering water for them and for the dog as well as some pasta, they looked at each other for a long moment. Sherlock thought he could just drown in these beautiful pale-blue eyes, and the love in them made him shiver. He was just dying to touch him.

“I’m sorry I was late,” Mycroft finally said, quickly touching the back of Sherlock’s right hand. “I was just coming out of my meeting with the minister when the PM stormed in and ranted again about that hacker. He was so upset that I couldn’t leave, and I left my phone in my office so I couldn’t text you.”

“What hacker?”

“Oh, I haven’t told you about him, have I? He seems to be a living legend. Nobody knows his identity, but in the internet they call him  _ Robin Good _ , because he only hacks into systems of overly wealthy people and firms, takes high amounts of money, always striking figures like 666,666 pounds, and he is supposed to give it to a wide range of charity organisations, at least they always receive the exactly same amount that he has taken, and they don’t have to give it back because the source of the money can never be tracked down.”

“Yes, I read about that. Pretty impressive, isn’t it?” Sherlock sipped at the water that had been delivered to their table in the meantime.

“Indeed. But he has taken course on the Palace now, and after hacking into Camilla’s computer and placing a picture of Lady Di in her wedding dress as the background, he has now tried his luck with Charles and sent dirty emails to members of the parliament from his account. It seems that he likes to cause a different sort of trouble now.”

Sherlock chuckled. “Oh, this is rather fun!”

Mycroft grinned. “For whatever reason, the PM doesn’t share this opinion. He’s getting crazy over the fact that the Secret Service cannot find this man. All his shouting at me won’t change that I’m afraid. My best people are on it, but it seems he is just too good. I would ask you to try and find him but…”

Sherlock shook his head. “I’d love to help you, but I know my limits. I’m not even sure that this is the same guy, his preoccupations have changed quite a bit then, don’t you think?”

“That’s true. But thinking that there could be two hackers of this calibre is even more disturbing. There’s simply no trace my people could follow. I could need such a guy, that’s for sure.”

He thanked the waiter, who had brought them the pasta. “Oh, Sherlock, Mummy has called me. She and Daddy want to visit Eurus this week.”

“Good for them,” Sherlock said and hunted down a reluctant noodle with his fork.

“Well, I think you haven’t been to Sherrinford for, I don’t know, four weeks now? So I thought you might want to join them? Of course you can always ask me for a helicopter for yourself to go there.”

“I won’t go there anymore. It’s pointless, and well… I don’t have any interest in it anymore. Besides, now that the old people are seeing her, she has someone to make fuss about her.” Sherlock wondered why he’d ever cared. Probably because he’d been feeling a stupid responsibility towards her. And perhaps because Eurus as their sister shared some of his lover’s genes. He had wanted to make her a better person just in case she would ever come out of Sherrinford. As if that would ever work… He could only shake his head over himself now.

“I see,” Mycroft said and threw him a thoughtful look. “Well, I can’t say I’m sad about that.”

Of course he wasn’t. He’d never wanted Sherlock to go there, and Sherlock regretted ever upsetting him with that. How could he have done that - try to make friends with a crazy, murderous woman who had wanted him to shoot the man he loved? He must have been completely out of his mind.

“Do you have time for a coffee?” Sherlock asked Mycroft when they had finished their meal in a comfortable silence.

“Sure. I'll have to go back only in about an hour.”

Sherlock was very grateful for that. He was fully aware that Mycroft was always busy and could have used this hour for going through a lot of stuff, and it touched him that he chose to spend time with him instead. He thought what they could do in this hour. Baker Street was just around the corner, and John was off to his shift.

“We’ll do that once I come home in the evening, Sherlock.” Mycroft winked at him. “I'll need my strength for this afternoon.”

“Shame. But of course I understand.” He fought the feeling of being rejected; he knew that Mycroft was just being the reasonable one, as usual.

“I’ll go to this conference in Edinburgh on the twentieth; I think I’ve told you about that. I’ll be there for three days.”

“Oh, I see.”

“No, you don’t, I want you to come with me.”

Sherlock opened his eyes widely. “You would really do that?”

“Sherlock, we did speak about that!”

“Yes, but…”

“But you thought I didn’t mean it?”

“No, but… I didn't think you would be able to really do it.”

“Well, I will! I will book a room for you in the same hotel, and we will tell John and, if necessary, Lestrade that I needed you for a very secret case; nobody else needs to know about it.”

“So you will pay for my stay there?”  **_You_ ** _ , not the fucking British Government… _

“Of course. I… Sherlock, why am I sensing that you’re convinced that I feel as if I had to take you there? I only suggested that you come with me because I want to be together with you. I will be in meetings quite often of course but still we’ll be away from here and do something together and of course we will sleep in the same room. I know it’s not a satisfying situation at all, but I’m afraid it’s the best I can do. We can do.”

Sherlock reached for his hand instinctively. “I’m sorry, Mycie, I know that. I will go to Edinburgh with you with pleasure. But perhaps this would work here, too, I mean, just making up a case. At least I could come over to your office and talk to you then.”

Mycroft squeezed his hand. “Honey, you know you can always come over, and if I’m in a meeting you can just wait for me. You’re always welcome.”

Of course he had told Sherlock that before, but the detective had hardly dropped by during the weeks he had been allowed to sleep in Mycroft’s house. He just didn’t want to disturb Mycroft during his work hours with private matters, and he felt somewhat uncomfortable to be in his office, waiting for him to come back from an important appointment to see his needy lover. And then there were the people who were working with Mycroft… “I can’t be there very often without making your colleagues wonder. And without John.” John, it was always about  _ John _ …

“John, yes, so how are things going with him now?”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Last night, when I came home, I first had an argument with Martha about what happened between me and the doc.”

“That doesn’t sound good…”

“She promised me again that she’d never cause us problems. But she was pretty upset about the way I’d treated John, and I don’t think she was happy about my explanations. Anyway, after that I had a shower, and when I came out of the bathroom, John was waiting for me.” He decided to leave out the part with he and John being almost naked. “He started macking on me again, and I told him that if he didn’t stop, I’d have to move out.” He also didn’t mention that he had wished John would touch him, rip his towel off - to give him a reason to flee to Mycroft.

“Jesus. I’ve never imagined such complications. Perhaps it would have been better to convince him that you are indeed a paedophile; at least he wouldn’t have moved in with you again…”

Sherlock grimaced. “I’m not sure that I would have liked that version any better. He left me alone after apologising again. This morning he had already gone to his shift before I got up but he wrote me a note with yet another apology. I really hope that he won’t try it again.”  _ Or perhaps I do… Because I want to move in with you. _

“So do I. Sherlock…” He looked down at his hands on the table.

“Yes?” Sherlock heard how resigned his own voice was sounding; he already knew what was coming now…

“Have you really never thought about how it would be - being with him instead of me?”

“Okay, let’s go.”

“What? What about the coffee you wanted?”

“We can have some in 221B.” He couldn’t call it  _ home _ anymore because it wasn’t. The address sounded as anonym as he was feeling there now.

“But …”

Sherlock fumbled with his purse and went to the bar to pay the bill. When he got back to the table, Mycroft had already taken Lucky’s leash.

“Come on, Mycie.”

“But it’s too late to do anything now, Sherlock, really, I’m sorry if I upset you.”

“Come with me.”

Mycroft gave up and they walked the approximate six hundred metres to Baker Street with long steps, neither of them saying a word. They reached Sherlock’s flat undisturbed, and as soon as they had entered it, Sherlock pushed Mycroft against the closed door and kissed him fiercely. He put all his emotion in this kiss that Mycroft returned equally passionately. While continuing kissing, Sherlock let his hands work their way over Mycroft’s face and chest, then he grabbed his bottom and finally opened his zipper and heftily stroked his hard cock, freed it from all unnecessary fabric, got down on his knees and swallowed it down in one move, making sure to pull at his balls the way he did the day before. Mycroft was panting and moaning constantly and it took him less than two minutes to climax into Sherlock’s mouth. Sherlock did not swallow it all but got up and licked over Mycroft’s mouth, smearing it with his own cum and then licked it off again and gulped it down.

“So, here’s your answer, man: no, I’ve never thought about doing that with John Watson. I’ve never imagined being with anybody else than you. And I never want to hear this question from you again. Ask me anything you want, but not that. Because the answer will always be the same. I love you, love you,  _ love _ you, much more than I could ever put in words. There has never been and there will never be anyone but you.”

Mycroft pulled him close and they stood there for several minutes, just embracing each other. Sherlock breathed his scent in and enjoyed his warmth. He could have just stayed like that forever.

Finally Mycroft pulled back and touched his face. “Sherlock, you’re my life, and I’d do anything for you. I can’t wait to be far away with you, even though we will have to be careful in public even there, given your fame. But as much as I hate that, I need to go back now. I’m sorry I can’t satisfy you now …”

He looked so concerned, and Sherlock laughed. “Oh Mycie, don’t you worry. You can make up for that later. I will see you later, right?”

“Of course. Come over to my place whenever you want; I will make sure that I’m home latest around six o’clock. You don’t have to cook as we just had a warm meal together; I will bring some sandwiches. Just be there and wait for me.”

“I will, Mycie. Perhaps you should store your dick and freshen up a bit before you go back to work,” he suggested with a smirk.

“Oh, yes. I…”

They heard a key being put in the front door downstairs, and Mycroft almost jammed his ballsack in his zipper when he hastily tried to close his trousers.

“Go into the bathroom, Mycie,” Sherlock said calmly. “It’s John, I recognise the steps.” He wiped over his mouth.

“What will you tell him?”

“The truth.” He saw Mycroft gasp, and he smiled. “I’ll tell him that we had lunch and after that someone smeared something over you and you needed to freshen up, if he asks at all. Now go. And don’t worry, there’s no sperm on your clothes.”

Mycroft sent him a grateful smile and hurried into the bathroom. Sherlock made sure that there were no traces of their encounter on  _ his _ clothes either.

When the door opened, he faked a surprised look. “Oh, John, what are you doing here? I thought you had a shift until the afternoon?” Sherlock made sure to keep a distance from the doctor, for several reasons…

“Hi Sherlock. Well, yes, but I didn’t feel well and told them I had to leave. I’ve left Rosie in daycare though; I will pick her up later.”

“Oh, I see, what’s wrong?”  _ Not a good question _ , he realised after looking at John’s face. “John, there’s no need to feel bad about that. You’re probably just tired after getting not enough sleep. Take a nap and everything will look better after that.” He wondered where he had read this clichéd nonsense.

John nodded, his face a mask of unhappiness. Then he seemed to realise that they were not alone in the flat. “Do we have a visitor?”

“Yes, Mycroft is in the bathroom. We went to see the vet with Lucky and then had lunch. He’ll be leaving now to go back to the office.”

Mycroft joined them a minute later with freshly combed hair and a face red from washing and drying up, his grey suit as accurate as it could get. “Hi John, how are you?”

“Good,” John mumbled.

All three men winced when a noise came out of the living room. Something had apparently crashed onto the floor. Lucky was barking happily so it was clear that nothing had happened to him. But Sherlock decided to take a look. “Mycroft, I’ll bring you the dog later. You can pay then for what he’s just destroyed.”

“Agreed. Put it on the bill. See you then.”

Sherlock had to force himself not to touch him once more. He just gave him a nod and went to the living room. The huge plant that Molly had brought to the housewarming was lying on the floor. “You bad, bad dog,” he said with a grin and took the plant to place it on the board again, and then he took the opportunity to drink some water, gargling with it before so his breath wouldn’t smell of sperm… When he went back to the corridor to fetch their hand brush and dustpan to sweep up the spilled soil, he heard Mycroft and John talk. He decided to stay where he was and listen. He was quite sure that their conversation would be interesting for him…

“I don’t know what to do, Mycroft. I know he loves me but he doesn’t want me to love him back.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. John had to be really desperate to say something like that to  _ Mycroft  _ of all people.

“You know, John, my brother is a very complicated man. He might think he loves you but he’ll never have enough courage or emotional capability to really act on it. It must scare him to death to just imagine doing anything with you. You are so important to him that he confuses friendship, trust and a sort of abstract desire with love and passion. You'll need to be understanding and give him room, and you'll have to accept that you will never be with him.”

Sherlock was impressed beyond words. By drawing this not very flattering picture of his character, Mycroft was eloquently talking John out of having any hopes to ever be Sherlock’s boyfriend. He just hoped John would really buy it.

“But he kissed me and… touched me, I’m sure that he wants me.”

_ Shit. Again a bad decision… _

“That surprises me. So it was a tender kiss and a loving touch?”

Oh, Mycroft was so cunning…

“Well, not exactly. It was rather… rough.”

“See, he can’t really do that. He might have longed for getting close to you, but deep in his soul he wanted to scare you off.”

_ Oh, Mycie… _

“So you think… there’s no chance for us?”

Sherlock closed his eyes in relief.

“I’m afraid not, John. He will struggle with it for quite some time, too, and he seems to look for my comfort because of his confusion. He’s not talking about it with me of course but he definitely needs time away from you.”

“And it really doesn’t bother you to have him around so often?”

“Of course not. I’ve taken care of my brother his entire life and I’ll always be there for him. Don’t you worry about that. He can also stay overnight if he wants to - the spare room is always ready for him.”

Dear God, he would kiss Mycie’s feet when met later…

“I’m afraid I'll have to hurry now, John. I can only ask you for your understanding, please don’t give him a hard time, you know how fragile he is.”

“I won’t. And thank you for your advice, Mycroft. I do appreciate it.”

“Anytime, John. I just wished I could have given you reason to hope. But Sherlock will always be like that. Nobody will ever get close to him, especially not physically.”

Sherlock grinned. Considering the fact that Mycroft was allowed to get  _ very _ close to him, this sounded like a warning for anybody else to stay off of him, but of course John couldn’t know about that.

“Yes, it’s such a shame. I think we could be happy together if he just gave both of us the chance to get used to it. Anyway, have a good day, Mycroft, and thanks again. Oh, and if he stays overnight at your house, could you just text me so I won’t have to worry about him?”

“That can be arranged, John. I appreciate your concern for my brother. Goodbye.”

Sherlock heard the door close behind his lover, and he hurried to pretend getting the dirt off the carpet with his hands.

“Oh Sherlock, I’ll go and get the hand brush and dustpan, let it be. What a mess! Naughty little dog, you! So, what did the vet say?”

*****

Sherlock insisted on taking care of Lucky’s little mishap himself and shushed John to go take a nap. The doctor obeyed without trying to get close to him again, and Sherlock realised that he didn’t like that at all. If he wanted to have an excuse to stay at Mycie’s overnight, John had to misbehave. Obviously Mycroft had not taken this into consideration when he – apparently successfully – had tried to convince John to spare Sherlock his advances. But of course he’d had to do that because John did believe Sherlock wanted something from him and so Mycroft had needed to give him an excuse for rejecting the doctor… While Sherlock was still trying to figure that out, the doorbell rang. Sherlock sighed. A client, great… But he realised that he didn’t have much choice than to let the help-seeking person in. Especially as the doorbell kept ringing annoyingly. Apparently it was urgent.

He thought once more that John Watson did have his purpose as his partner in solving crimes when he was sitting in his chair with the woman opposite of him. He had been lucky enough to not have any clients in the morning, but now he was alone with Mrs Fisher, a very overweight, crying, desperate woman, having to listen to the totally dull story of a divorce and a resentful, mean ex-husband, who was trying to get sole custody for their little daughter by claiming that she was a bad mother.

He tried his best to pretend being interested and make comforting noises if required, which he usually left to John. Every now and then he reached down next to his chair to tickle Lucky behind an ear to not starting to scream. As she was completely focused on him, he couldn’t even text with Mycie which pissed him off. He thought Mycie had probably felt the same when he had been bothered by the PM earlier that day. He got more impatient with every word she said and could hardly keep himself from rolling his eyes.

“You just have to throw dirt at him,” he told her in a bored tone after she was finally through with her heart-warming story.

“Sorry?” she sobbed.

Sherlock sighed. “Everyone has a weakness that can be used against him. Did he screw around with other women during your marriage? Or with men? Did he show any paedophilic tendencies?”

She looked at him with wide open eyes. “No!”

“Shame. Do you know his email password? I’m sure that you will find something there.”

“But… that would be immoral!”

“Oh please. Being nice won’t get you anywhere.”

“This is your solution?! I thought you were so clever, you could solve every case!”

“What case? It’s a fucking custody conflict. You need a lawyer, not a consulting detective.”

It surprised him that somebody that fat could get up so fast. “You’re totally useless!” she spat out.

Sherlock was about to tell her where she could stick her stupid remarks when he heard someone clearing his throat.

“Hello, um, can I help perhaps?”

Sherlock finally rolled his eyes. Her nagging voice had woken the ever-caring doctor. “I don’t think so, John. It’s just not my kind of puzzle.”

“Puzzle?! I will lose my child if nobody helps me!”

“You should better lose some weight,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Sherlock!” John sounded rather upset.

Her face turned so red that Sherlock feared she would just collapse before his feet. And he would probably need a crane to get her whale-like body out. But she was already grabbing her handbag and ran to the door as fast as she could, which wasn’t very fast. But she seemed to be pretty strong considering how heftily she slammed the door behind her.

John sighed deeply and let himself fall into his chair. “That was not very nice, Sherlock.”

“Nice... When have I ever been  _ nice _ ?!”

“Well, for quite some time you were certainly nicer than that. This was rather the  _ bit not good _ side of you. Which by the way has come out pretty often lately.”

Sherlock was very close to telling John what he thought of his boring lecture when he remembered just in time that John had to believe he was in love with him. “Yes, well, you know it’s not easy for me. I can’t pretend nothing had changed in my life.” So much was true.

John’s expression softened at once. “Of course not, Sherlock, I understand. I’m so sorry about how you feel. Of course…”

_ Yes, John, tell me… _

“Oh well, Mycroft told me to leave you alone.”

_ Shit _ . “You have spoken with him about me?” Sherlock tried to sound embarrassed.

“Yes, well, I thought he could give me some advice. And he did. He said you couldn’t deal with your own feelings.”

“He’s the one to talk. What does an Iceman know about feelings?!” Sherlock silently apologised to Mycie for that. But he knew that he had to play his part.

“You know, Sherlock, he loves you very much.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks blush. John couldn’t have gotten that. He had to mean it differently… “Yeah, right, I’m sure that he just adores me…” He did his best to sound despicable.

“He does. It’s amazing actually. He’s always tried to keep you from any harm. But when I remember back to when I met him the first time - Anthea had more or less kidnapped me as you might recall - he said you would consider him your arch enemy. I’ve never understood why you were so resentful and sometimes outright mean to him all these years.”

Sherlock winced. He didn’t understand it either… Why had he not talked to him instead? His head was spinning when he thought how they could have been together for so long already. If it had happened before Mycroft had become the  _ British Government _ , perhaps they would have gone away with each other… And he was very sure that if they had become a couple around fifteen years ago, he would still be exactly as crazy for him as he was now. Anyway, that was nothing he wanted to tell his flatmate. “We had a very difficult time with each other as children,” he lied. “And when I grew up, he always interfered in everything I did. I hated that. And he still tends to do that.”

“He’s always wanted your best, he would do anything for you. And come on, you are not seeing him as an Iceman anymore - you even told me that! It seems to me that you do care for him a lot now but you don’t want to admit it because you never want to show how you feel about people.”

_ And it seems to me you are thinking about us way too much…  _ “He’s okay. I… like to be at his place; he always knows when he has to leave me alone, as long as he has me under control at least. You know control is everything to him.” Sherlock hardly knew what he was saying. He only knew that he had to lead John’s thoughts away from Mycroft’s and his relationship.

“I wonder why he's never married. Even though he’s wearing a wedding ring for some reason.”

_ You’d be very surprised…  _ “I’d say because he’s not the easiest person to get along with. Just as I am. Ask Mrs Fisher.”

“Mrs Fisher? Oh, you mean the orca that just stumbled out of our flat?”

Sherlock laughed out loud. “John!”

The doctor grinned. “That you weren’t overly nice to her, doesn’t mean you were incorrect. Gosh, she was really fat. And she has a child?”

“Yeah, some people just screw everything.”

John giggled. “It’s so great to joke around with you again, Sherlock. I’ve missed that.” He stood up. “Would you like to have some tea?”

“Yes, please.” Sherlock got up as well when John walked past his chair so he stepped into his way. John caught his gaze - and touched his waist carefully. “Sherlock…”

Sherlock grabbed his shoulder and moved forward as if he was about to kiss him, then he backed away, happy that his cheeks blushed again. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be! You know I want it, too!”

“No, you don’t. Please, John…” He didn’t have to pretend being fed up. “You cannot try to seduce me all the time. I’m… too afraid that you will hurt me.”

“I’d never hurt you, Sherlock!”

“No? You have a short memory then.”

John’s face went pale. “I did apologise for that, Sherlock! It was an exceptional situation.”

“Twice?”

“You let me believe that you were dead for two years! How would you have reacted if I had done that to you?”

_ Point made… _ “I would have never beaten you, John.”

“Oh really! As you are such a forgiving person! Ask your brother!”

“Okay, that’s it, I’ll go to him now. Don’t wait for me tonight.”

“Oh Sherlock, I’m so sorry, please, don’t go!”

But Sherlock grabbed Lucky’s leash and headed to the door, realising he wouldn’t be able to take Mycroft’s dildo with him. But they would stick to the real one then.

Without paying attention to John’s begging, he left the house with the excited little dog, wondering if he would spend every day of his life like that now: provoking John to come on to him, then blame him to be able to spend more than two hours with his lover. But of course John would not fall for that many times more. He would have to try hard to make it happen.

He had not come far when his phone chirped. John was calling him… He rejected the call but he couldn’t turn it off because Mycie could want to contact him. He decided that he needed a second smartphone. He would get it at once before going home. Home…  _ Yes, home… _

_ ***** _

When he arrived at Mycroft’s house, John had been trying to contact him several times. With a sigh he texted him that he was doing okay but would stay with his brother overnight. The last thing he needed was that the doctor showed up here again.

_ Alright, I know you in good hands then. And, sorry again, Sherlock. I don’t know how that could happen once more. But it was the last time, I promise. John _

Sherlock did know it but chose to keep that to himself. And he hoped that it had not been the last time… After providing Lucky with fresh water and a snack in the kitchen, he sat down on Mycroft’s couch and typed his lover’s number into his brand new phone. It was very small so he could easily store it in the pockets of his shirts. It would give him access to the internet should he need that, and nobody else than Mycroft would know that it even existed. He sent him a text to be able to turn his other phone off.

_ Hey beautiful, it’s me. This will be the number under which I’ll always be reachable for you and only you from now on. SH _

_ Alright! Let me guess, my little speech to John wasn’t as successful as I thought? But that’s a good idea anyway. MH _

_ It was actually successful. A little too successful; he was really willing to leave me alone. But as I want to stay with you overnight, I needed him to try to seduce me. He did so I could flee. But I guess we will have to exercise that pretty often. SH _

_ Well, yes, that’s a dilemma. But I did tell him that you needed time and space to get over him. MH _

_ Yes, but that wouldn’t really explain why I don’t come back for the night, would it? I can only do that without causing him to get suspicious if there is a little drama. Have I mentioned how much I hate this fucking game? SH _

_ Not today I think. I hate it, too, Sherlock, believe me. I’m so sorry our relationship causes you so much trouble and pain. MH _

_ Above all it causes me to feel totally happy about being able to be with you, kiss you, make love to you, be your man. It’s worth the efforts. SH _

_ Oh honey, I think my heart just jumped in my chest when I read that. I love you, Sherlock, and being with you makes ME so happy. MH _

_ Remember a time when you said your heart was not much of a target? SH _

_ Well, I lied. It had been huge for you for so long already by that time. And now? Elephant is all I’m saying. MH _

_ I want to just put my head on your sexy, hairy chest right now and listen to it beating. SH _

_ That sounds so lovely, and you will be able to do that very soon. Where are you now? MH _

_ At home already. I mean, your house. SH _

_ It is your home, Sherlock, even though you can’t be there all the time. I’ll join you in about two hours; perhaps I’ll have to look over some stuff then if you don’t mind. MH _

_ Of course I don’t. But if it’s on paper, do you think I could be lying on your chest while you read it? If it’s not too secret I mean. SH _

_ You can read everything I’m dealing with. Perhaps it will make you fall asleep but you can read it. You know I completely trust you. And having you so close when I work sounds heavenly. Just make sure that you don’t distract me completely. MH _

_ Not sure if I can promise that. But I'll try to only put my hand around your cock and not stroke it. SH _

_ Damn… You are making it get hard by just writing that. I’d say let me get back to work now so I won’t have to bring anything home but myself and the dinner I promised you. One more meeting for today and then I'll be yours and you can do what you want with my cock. MH _

_ That sounds like a plan. I think I’ll take a nap now so I’m fresh and ready when you get here. I love you, Mycie. SH _

_ I love you, too, Sherlock, sleep tight, and if you still do, I’ll wake you with a kiss. MH _

Sherlock smiled and put his new phone on the table. He looked at it fondly, considering it the graphic connection between him and the man he loved. Then he got up, grabbing the other item he had bought on his way here.

“Catch it, Lucky, bring it back,” he said and threw the soft, blue ball across the huge room. Lucky yapped and ran after it, retrieved it and came back with a hard-wagging tail.

“Good boy, here, go again!”

He played with the dog for fifteen minutes, then he took him upstairs to Mycroft’s bedroom and both of them fell asleep almost right away.

_ ***** _

He thought it was a shame on one hand that he couldn’t let Mycroft wake him up with a kiss like the Sleeping Beauty. But he was feeling totally awake after his almost an-hour-long nap and he headed to the bathroom to take an extended shower, making sure that he was squeaky clean all over, then he shaved equally deliberately. He dressed up again so Mycroft would have the pleasure of undressing him later.

When he returned to the bedroom, it was nearly time for his man to show up. He realised that he was feeling not only totally excited even though they had seen each other only hours ago. He also felt as if he had to give him a little more of himself than he already had. He went online with the laptop Mycroft had gotten him after Sherrinford, which was always waiting for him in this room. He looked up Youtube and searched for the one song that had meant for him so much for so many years; it still did but not in the same way as before. He listened to it, as always drawn into the beautiful melody and the wonderful voice of the singer who had died so young a couple of years before Sherlock had heard the song for the first time at university; his untimely, tragic death adding to the strong feelings the song had woken in a man everybody thought did not feel anything.

When it was finished, he returned to the beginning and paused it so he could start playing it again as soon as he would hear Mycroft arrive. Until then he played with Lucky again who had brought the ball with him. But his thoughts were lingering in this unhappy, scary past when studying and occupying his brain had been the only way to deal with how he had been feeling, and the only thing that had kept him from sinking completely into a world of hurt, drugs and desperation.

Finally he heard the front door open up. “Daddy’s coming! Run down and tell him I’m here,” he told Lucky, and the dog yapped shortly and ran out of the room as if he had understood. Sherlock watched him with a smile, and it got even wider when he heard Mycroft speak with Lucky.

“Where’s mummy, hon, upstairs? Waiting for his master to arrive? Let me store this and then you can show me where he is.”

Sherlock chuckled and when he heard his lover’s steps on the stairs two minutes later, he started the song. It took the singer a while to begin after the first accords, so it perfectly matched the moment when Mycroft came into the room; he was not wearing his jacket anymore. He stood there, looking in his eyes, a little surprised as it seemed; it was the first time they were listening to music together besides the zombie-song, and of course he guessed that the song had a meaning to Sherlock.

**_I heard there was a secret chord_ **

**_That David played and it pleased the Lord_ **

**_But you don't really care for music, do you?_ **

 

**_Well it goes like this the fourth, the fifth_ **

**_The minor fall and the major lift_ **

**_The baffled king composing Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

Sherlock stood up from the bed and Mycroft approached him, pulling him into a loving embrace, and kissed him tenderly, not saying a word. Sherlock just let himself get lost in this kiss, concentrating on Mycroft’s sweet taste, the way his lips were feeling, the pressure of his tongue, his warmth he could feel through his shirt, his hands that were sliding over Sherlock’s back constantly, his hard erection that was rubbing against his own, the texture of Mycroft’s trousers under his own caressing hands, tight over his firm arse. He wished that he could just crawl under his skin to be even closer to him.

**_Well your faith was strong but you needed proof_ **

**_You saw her bathing on the roof_ **

**_Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_ **

 

**_She tied you to her kitchen chair_ **

**_She broke your throne and she cut your hair_ **

**_And from your lips, she drew the Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Baby, I've been here before_ **

**_I've seen this room and I've walked this floor_ **

**_You know, I used to live alone before I knew you_ **

He remembered being alone in his single room at university, listening to that song nonstop on his portable CD player with earphones, getting lost in Jeff Buckley’s beautiful voice but thinking of nobody else than his distant brother.

**_And I've seen your flag on the marble arch_ **

**_But love is not a victory march_ **

**_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Well, there was a time when you let me know_ **

**_What's really going on below_ **

**_But now you never show that to me, do you?_ **

He pulled back in this moment, his gaze catching Mycroft’s, silently telling him that this was the most important part. It hadn’t been then, of course, but now it added to the meaning this song always had for him.

 

**_But remember when I moved in you_ **

**_And the holy dove was moving, too_ **

**_And every breath we drew was Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

And he kissed him once more when the text was much more referring again to how he had felt back then, in these hopeless times where he had thought he’d never be happy.

**_Maybe there's a God above_ **

**_But all I've ever learned from love_ **

**_Was how to shoot somebody who outdrew you._ **

 

**_And it's not a cry that you hear at night_ **

**_It's not somebody who's seen the light_ **

**_It's a cold and it's a broken Hallelujah_ **

 

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

**_Hallelujah, Hallelujah_ **

The song ended and Mycroft started unbuttoning his shirt while they were still kissing. Sherlock didn’t follow his lead, and when Mycroft was standing before him toplessly, he gave him a questioning look, as if asking for permission, and Sherlock figured that he cared to know if Sherlock wanted to talk now or after making love. He gave him a smile and looked down on his still closed shirt, and Mycroft began to open it while Sherlock was fingering at the button of Mycroft’s trousers. So far none of them had spoken. 

When both of them were naked, Mycroft took his hand and lay down on the bed. Sherlock was over him in a second, making sure that their erections were grinding against each other before they started kissing again. Eventually Mycroft closed his arms around his waist and turned them over so he was on top of him, rubbing his wet cock on Sherlock’s thighs. His eyes were full of excitement and full of love, and Sherlock knew that if he had a choice, he would stop his life right at this point to experience this moment over and over. Their kissing got more passionately with every second, and Sherlock got more excited with every meeting of their tongues, and he startled when Mycroft laughed into his mouth, and followed his gaze to Lucky, who was standing next to the bed with the blue ball in front of him.

Sherlock cursed. “Not now, honey, go downstairs, have some water.”

“He doesn’t understand you,” Mycroft said but he opened his eyes widely when Lucky picked up the ball with his teeth and ran out of the room with it.

“He’s a Holmes, of course he understands,” Sherlock said with a wink.

“Of course, I’m sorry I doubted him even for a second.” He kissed Sherlock again. “What would you like to do now?”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows. “I think  _ sex _ would be a good suggestion, don’t you think?”

“Don’t be smart, Sherlock, you know who the smart one is,” Mycroft retorted with a wink.

“Yes, Lucky!”

They chuckled and Mycroft gave him a peck on the nose. “You know what I meant. Do you want to  _ move in me _ ?” he asked, referencing the song text.

“No, not now, I want to have you moving in me,” Sherlock replied.

“God, you make me so crazy.” Mycroft’s voice was hoarse, and the sexy sound made Sherlock shiver from excitement. He watched Mycroft fetch the lube and lifted his legs so he could reach his entrance easily. “Come on, make it swift so you can give me this elephant cock as soon as possible,” he teased him.

Mycroft smiled and carefully slid a dripping finger into his hole, which made Sherlock gasp. “You do realise that your dick is every bit as big as mine?”

“Well, I’m a Holmes, too. But yours is thicker. Which is strange as my fingers are thicker than yours.”

“Do you think this theory is very scientific?” He added another finger and Sherlock moaned in ecstasy.

“I guess not. But… I’ve always fantasised how you might look when I was, well, still a boy.”

Mycroft had finished prepping him up and lined his cock up. “So you imagined it to be what, tiny and thin?” He breached the head in and then he lay down on Sherlock, resting on his elbows, and let it slide in almost completely. Sherlock moaned loudly and he immediately asked him if he was okay.

“Oh yes, go on. And no, I thought it had to be long, as your fingers are so long, but… I never imagined it would be so big. Fuck!”

“I’m trying my best.”

And then they spoke no more for a long while, except for moaning the other one’s name. Sherlock kept his eyes close and gave into the incredible feeling of being taken by his man, his hands rubbing and massaging Mycroft’s shoulders, and he grabbed at the flesh with every deep thrust, his feet sliding over Mycroft’s arse.

“This is so good, Mycie, don’t stop, harder, please.”

“God, you’re so beautiful, so sexy,” Mycroft whispered into his ear when he playfully lowered his body on Sherlock’s, covering him completely while he was going on thrusting into him. Sherlock looked up at him and saw the unconditional love in his eyes. He blinked when a drop of sweat fell from Mycroft’s forehead onto his nose.

“Sorry,” Mycroft said and kissed it away.

“Never say you’re sorry when you’re making love to me,” Sherlock answered.

“Okay.” Mycroft pulled away a bit and changed his angle of thrusting into Sherlock, and the unbelievably strong feeling of his cock pushing against his prostate with every powerful stroke made him lose every control; he knew that he would come very soon now. He grabbed his cock and fiercely masturbated it between their bodies.

“Come, Sherlock, show me, show me that you like it.”

“Like it, funny,” Sherlock growled and then he felt his balls tighten and his inner muscles close around Mycroft’s cock, and they moaned simultaneously, and then his semen shot out of his cock up to his chest and his throat, and in the same moment he felt Mycroft climax in his body and it was an almost painful feeling of loss when he pulled his cock out of him. And then he was over him, licking up the thick streams of cum from Sherlock’s chest and collarbones. Sherlock just closed his eyes, his hand gently touching his lover’s head, and he shivered each time his hot, long tongue was lapping over his wet skin.

“Come, let’s have a shower,” Mycroft finally said.

“Not necessary,” Sherlock mumbled, “you’ve just licked me clean.”

“Up, man, dinner is waiting for us and we can’t eat all sweaty and sticky.”

“‘kay,” Sherlock agreed even though he wouldn’t have minded, and let Mycroft guide him to the bathroom. His spirits were woken up pretty quickly when the hot water was pattering on his face and body and Mycroft drew him close for more kissing while he washed his entire body with shower gel that smelled like raspberries.

Dressed in identical bathrobes, they went downstairs and ate together. Mycroft had brought four sorts of sandwiches and salad. Of course Lucky got some food as well and was patted and cuddled for waiting for them downstairs. When they had finished their delicious meal, Mycroft brought the plates into the kitchen, and they sat down on the couch. Sherlock snuggled his head against Mycroft’s throat, and his left hand entwined with Mycroft’s right one while Mycroft was holding him with the other arm. Sherlock couldn’t take his eyes off the ring he was wearing and let his own ring-finger slide over the plain golden band.

“Will you buy me one?” He didn’t know why he asked him that. He knew the answer.

“What? Oh, you mean the ring… I wish I could, Sherlock, I’d have already done it if I could.”

“Right,” Sherlock said quietly and continued rubbing the metal.

“If you want, I will get you one and you can wear it when you are here.”

It was a sweet and tempting suggestion, but Sherlock knew that even that would be too dangerous. He could forget to take it off before going to Baker Street, and it would be visible on his hand that he had worn a ring. If John hadn’t acted like he had the last couple of days, he might have done it anyway, but now John would pay attention to every detail.

“No, it’s okay, I shouldn’t have asked you.”

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, so sorry that we cannot be open about our love. I know you believe that I don't care about that as much as you do, but I do think about that a lot.” He kissed Sherlock on the temple.

_ Then go away with me _ , Sherlock thought, but he didn’t say it. He would never say it. It was much too late for that… Mycroft would never quit his job, and Sherlock would never ask him to do that. He just nodded and breathed a kiss on the soft skin of his throat and buried his face in it. It smelled like raspberries and pure, delicious Mycroft. But he just couldn’t stop rubbing the ring like a maniac.

“This song was beautiful,” Mycroft finally broke the silence. “I didn’t know this version of it. It’s from Leonard Cohen, but it's not he who sings it here.”

Sherlock had expected them to talk about that, but now he wasn’t sure anymore if that had been a good idea. Despite the wonderful love-making, he was feeling sort of low now. But he had brought it up because he wanted to open up even more to his man, and there was no pulling back now without hurting him, and he wouldn’t let that happen, not by shutting himself up. But perhaps with what he had to tell him…

“Jeff Buckley sings this version. I was listening to it a lot when I was at university. It kind of meant a lot to me.”

“Tell me about it, Sherlock. How was it back then? You were living there, but I suppose you didn’t have much contact to your fellow students.”

“Oh, you say the nicest things, Mycie. I had no contact to them at all. They had parties all the time while I was sitting in my room or the library and was working on my studies. And if I wasn't, I was getting high. And this song was my steady companion when shutting up my thoughts and feelings by learning or taking drugs didn’t work.”

“Why was it so important?”

“Because… it just crawled into my soul like no other song ever had. The melody, the voice… The singer had died at a very young age, before he really had a chance to get famous. He drowned and nobody knows why.”

“And you were so young then, too, and you felt like drowning yourself.”

Of course Sherlock shouldn’t have been surprised about him getting this connection after two sentences… “Yes, I felt like drowning from pain. Pain about being the freak wherever I went, and the pain of not having what I wanted.”

“Oh Sherlock…”

“I’m not telling you that to make you feel bad, Mycie, that’s the last thing I want. But I thought… Perhaps it was a silly idea, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t you ever say that. You wanted to share this memory with me so I'd understand you better. And I think that it was a very good idea, even if it causes some pain.”

“I want you to really know me, Mycie. I was so vulnerable at this time, I did feel cold and broken, it was not that I had lost you like the song says, I never had you in the first place, but I felt that I was losing what could be. And I felt so silly, because you were the one who never showed any feelings, always so cool and above everything, as if nothing could touch you. Except when… we argued, you certainly remember this horrible Christmas Day… And I fantasized about being with you all the time and all I could do was listening to this song, getting lost in it, or taking drugs and getting lost in them. I felt that I shouldn’t feel anything, just like I thought you did.”

“Dear God, Sherlock, if you had just known how much I was feeling for you. Whenever I met you, you had become even more beautiful and smart and just delicious, and there I was, hiding my feelings for you behind a mask of being superior and arrogant, the fat boy that had trained so hard to become a slim man, and I had succeeded, but when I looked into the mirror, I still saw this overweight child, and my ugly nose, and you were hardly twenty, already at the prime of your beauty, when my hair started to fall out, instead growing on my bloody back. I felt ugly and small and right out dirty that I dared desire you, this beautiful, genial young man, my own  _ brother _ above all. And you were so rebellious, taking marihuana and drinking too much and I thought you did that because you couldn’t cope with the measures of your brain. And as I had to struggle with that myself, I was too hard on you and didn’t give you the support you would have needed, not emotionally. Not in my dreams I would have thought you did it because of what you felt for me. Whenever I saw you, you treated me as if you were just pissed off that I stuck my big nose in your life once again, but of course I above all people should have known what you really were about. I let you down all this time and I will never forgive myself for that.”

“You never did, Mycie, you were always there for me. I just didn’t understand why. I thought you were there to spare our parents the effort of taking care of me, and even though I had never told you how much you meant to me, I felt betrayed by you as you always looked at me with such a disgrace, and I knew that I was a terrible disappointment for you. This song was the only thing that saved me during this time, a release for my bad feelings of loss and loneliness, and at the same time its beauty embraced my soul, and the destiny of the singer added to it, he had died so young and I wished I would…” He broke off, but it was too late, he had said something he had wanted to spare his lover.

Mycroft face had become white. “I knew it. Oh dear God…” Tears welled in his eyes and Sherlock could have ripped his own tongue out.

“I’m so sorry, I should have never said that.” He reached out for Mycroft’s face and gently touched it. Mycroft put his hand over his.

“But it’s true, you wanted to die. You said that you only came close to an overdose when you knew that I was close enough to save you.”

“Yes, and that was the truth.”

“But it wasn’t the whole truth.”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “No. There were occasions when I wished you wouldn’t be there in time. When I woke up and everything was even darker than before. When you looked at me as if you despised me.” Why the hell did he have to say that now? Didn't Mycroft feel bad enough already? It was if something forced him to be brutally honest.

“Oh, Sherlock, I don’t know what to say…” He buried his face in his hands. “And in Sherrinford, I even told you that I had always despised you. But I never did! It’s no wonder you were about to shoot me…”

“I’ve already told you I was not! Never in my life would I have shot at you. I simply didn’t know what to do and I stalled for time by playing along Eurus’ horrible game; I hoped to think of a way out for all three of us. I figured that Eurus would not want me to kill myself as it would have destroyed her stupid plans, so I pointed the gun at my head. And if she had figured that out, I would have been ready to kill myself.”  _ There I go again… _

“Again. Kill yourself for me.” Mycroft stood up, apparently not being able to sit still anymore.

“I’m sorry, Mycie, I must be the stupidest man on the face of the earth to bring this up.”

“No, you’re not.” Mycroft fixated him with his tearful, blue eyes. “You know what I think? I think all this lying to John and the trouble that our relationship causes you brings you close to being like you were back then. That’s why you listened to this song again and remembered how things were at this time, and you shared that with me because you longed for my help. You feel so bad about not being able to show our love, to not be allowed to stay at night with me except if you succeed in making John trying to touch you, that it almost drives you insane.  _ I _ make you feel bad once more. Perhaps we should…”

Sherlock was on his feet in an instant. “If you now say  _ call it quits _ , I  _ will _ shoot you!” Tears were coming to his eyes now, too.

They were staring at each other for a long moment. Then Lucky, who had been lying next to the couch, chewing at his ball, approached them and spat the wet toy on Mycroft’s bare left foot, looking at him expectantly. Mycroft stared down on him and made such a funny grimace that Sherlock couldn't help but laugh. Mycroft shot him a very surprised look – and laughed, too. Then he kicked the ball away, causing the dog to run after it at once.

Sherlock closed the distance between them and put his arms around Mycroft’s neck. “Promise me that you never ever even think of making that suggestion again. Or do you really think I would be any happier if I lost you?” The sheer thought of how he would feel then made him shudder.

Mycroft pulled him so close that he could hardly breathe anymore. “I promise that if you promise me to not even think of allowing yourself to drown again - I cannot see you getting so depressed over us.”

“It was never over us, only over the circumstances. And I can only promise to talk to you instead of suffering on my own.” Because he would go on suffering and both of them knew it.

“Sherlock, you can always come to me, with anything that is weighing on your soul. I know how fucking difficult this all is, believe me, I really do, and also trust me when I say that I don’t feel very cheerful about it, either. I may be able to hide it better, because I’m used to being the Iceman and hiding my feelings from anybody; and my work is so stressful that it allows me to push these feelings away when I manage to focus on it. But they are there, always there in the back of my mind. I can’t fight them but I'll have to accept them, and I’m afraid so will you. I know you’re unhappy with living in your flat again and with doing your job and with dealing with John, and I hate to push you back to that. But I must.”

“I know.” Sherlock saw that Lucky was back with his ball, eagerly waiting for someone to kick it across the floor again, and he managed to do it without breaking the embrace. “As long as you don’t expect me to like that...”

“I certainly don’t.” He let Sherlock go and cupped his face with his big hands. “I love you much more than you will ever believe me. And I’m sorry I even considered us splitting up. I only thought of saving you pain but of course that was stupid. It would only make both of us want to jump off a bridge. It’s not going to happen again, no matter what, I promise you.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “I’m very happy to hear that. But you know I cannot push these dark feelings away. I will not wake up tomorrow and go to Baker Street with a wide smile and hug all clients and kiss John…”

“I would really appreciate if you didn’t put the words  _ John _ and  _ kiss _ in the same sentence again.”

“Sorry, bad example.” He kissed Mycroft on the lips. “I can’t do anything about my feelings. But I’ll try to not let them take over.”

“That’s all I can expect. And I will do everything in my power to make you happy every single day.”

“I am happy when we are together. Just not so much… when we are not.”

“Perhaps I should set fire on Baker Street so you can move in with me again.”

“Probably John and Martha and Rosie would have to move in here as well then.”

“Oh, okay, bad idea. I could smash my right arm so you'll need to be here as my nurse.”

“But then you couldn’t go to work and the PM would show up here every five minutes to ask you when you can come back.”

“Shit. It seems there’s no way out of that instead of going on like before. If we like it or not. And we…”

“…don’t like it, indeed.” Sherlock kicked the ball again, and both men smiled when Lucky barked and went searching for it. “I will not be able to make John trying to seduce me so soon again I guess. But I want to be with you more than an hour every evening.”

“I know, both of it. And how often can we fuck within an hour?” He shook his head.

Sherlock had to smile and he knew that this had been Mycroft’s goal. “You only want me for sex?” he played along.

“Of course. What else?”

“I should have known it. Everybody just lusts for my body and nobody wants my brain.”

“That’s because you are such a good lay but your tongue is way too sharp.”

“I didn’t notice that you were complaining about my tongue when I sucked you off.”

“That’s because that means putting it to good use, and you can’t talk while you are doing it.”

“I did try and you said I was misbehaving.”

“You were indeed. You should know that when my cock is in your mouth, it means you are not supposed to talk at all.”

“I will remember. Speaking of that…” He reached down and let his hand slide into the robe. He wasn’t surprised that Mycroft’s cock was soft after their very little sexy conversation before, but he was also quite optimistic that he could wake his interest pretty quickly.

“That feels good,” Mycroft said hoarsely.

His cock seemed to share this opinion and was growing in Sherlock’s hand already. Sherlock went down on his knees, untied the robe and nuzzled his face into Mycroft’s pubes, licking through the thick, dark curls, his hand sliding through the hair on his belly and his chest. “I love your hair, Mycie. It’s so comforting.”

“Is that so? I would have never thought that body hair could be a comfort.”

Sherlock pressed his face in the skin of his stomach, feeling Mycroft’s long fingers stroking his curls. “It’s warm and ticklish and sexy.”

“Even the hair on my back?”

“Especially that. I love to rub my face on it when I’m lying behind you. I love to lick it, too.”

“That’s good to know. Speaking of licking…”

“Yes, you naughty, depraved sex addict, I know what you want.” He teasingly lapped over the stiff shaft, then he closed only his lips around the big, red knob and let his tongue tickle the slit. His own dick was throbbing hard already.

“Oh, Sherlock, you’re so great at that.”

_ And you were ready to give it up because you thought you would do me a favour… _

He felt Mycroft’s strong hand caress his neck as if he had sensed what he was thinking. He decided to stop thinking at all and swallowed his lover’s long cock down as far as he could, let it slide in an out, let his tongue circle around the soft head. He startled when Mycroft’s leg twitched but he realised that he was just kicking the ball for Lucky. He chuckled and involuntarily brought his teeth in contact with Mycroft’s sensitive flesh.

“Sherlock, don’t talk when you suck me, and please don’t laugh and bite me. It’s nothing funny or unusual to play ball with your dog while your lover is giving you a blowjob. I’m sure that thousands of men are doing the same right now.”

Sherlock chuckled once more and looked up to see the smile in Mycroft’s face. And then he thought that his joke would have been even better if he had used the word  _ brother _ instead of  _ lover _ , and of course Mycroft had to know that, too, but he had chosen not to use this word. He didn’t use it at all anymore except for their serious conversation about their past before, Sherlock realised. Did he do it for him as Sherlock had made very clear that he didn’t see him as his brother anymore? Or did he share this opinion?

“Sherlock, come up.”

He let Mycroft’s cock plop out of his mouth and did like he’d been told.

“Kiss me, Sherlock.” He obeyed again, and allowed himself to get lost into the kiss once more while he felt Mycroft untying his robe as well, and when it fell open, he slipped out of it.

“Take me, Sherlock, right here on the couch.”

“What position?” Sherlock asked.

“Doggy-style of course!”

Both of them laughed and Sherlock collected a meaningful amount of spit in his mouth while Mycroft got on his knees in front of him. He rested one leg on the sofa and spread his man’s cheeks. The view turned him on enormously. He let the saliva drop out of his mouth and on the red puckered hole that was offered to him so seductively. While he was rubbing it in and tried to loose Mycroft up with his fingers with the help of more spit, he looked over to Lucky, who had lain down again and was watching them curiously, his beloved ball between his paws.

“Go upstairs, boy.”

Lucky yawned but then he stood up, picked up his ball and ran out of the living room.

“Either you have miraculous abilities or this is the cleverest dog anyone has ever seen,” Mycroft murmured. “And he’s definitely also a little perverse as he likes to watch us…”

“All of it, Mycie. He has to be because he’s our dog. He’s a Holmes in every way. Bringing him was the best decision you’ve ever made.” He let Mycroft go for a moment and went to the board where a bottle of lube was hidden behind some books. He put some of the sticky fluid on Mycroft's arse, tenderly wetting his entrance, and rubbed the head of his cock against the slightly open, glistening hole.

Mycroft gasped. “I guess so. Right after getting together with you.”

“You really think so? Despite all the difficulties I bring into your life?” He leaned forward and pushed his cock into the unbelievably tight, hot canal.

“Oh, fuck, that feels great… Yes, Sherlock, of course I think that. Forget what I was about to say before. I will never let you go.”

“I should hope so. You’d be missing out.”

“Oh yes. And not only with this. Come on, fuck me now, fuck me like you mean it.”

Sherlock grabbed his hips and obeyed. With every hard thrust he felt his soul getting lighter; the sexual pleasures overpowered every feeling of hurt and frustration and pain. He knew all- too-well that his love for Mycroft was and had always been yet another addiction, but it was the one addiction he would sacrifice himself to with pleasure.

He closed his eyes and bent his head back, concentrating only on how it felt to be inside of his man, knowing that he was making him feel as great as it got, and when the waves of his climax rushed through his entire body and he came, still buried deep inside him, he was feeling divine and happy and strong enough to cope with whatever else would be thrown in their way. And then Mycroft reached his orgasm as well, and he loved to hear him scream when he shot his load onto the couch. He held him at his hips to keep him from falling into the wetness, and then he pulled his softening dick out of his arse and caught what was flowing out of him with his hand and tongue.

“God, Sherlock, what are you doing?”

“Taking care of you, Mycie, nothing else.” He pulled him up and closed his arms around his waist. “Shower?”

“Shower.”

“And then another round?”

“Of course.”

“I love you, Mycie.”

Mycroft bent his head so they could kiss. “So do I, my darling. I just hope that you can forgive me. All my failures in the past and my stupid reaction today.”

“There’s nothing to forgive, I should rather ask you to forgive me for the hurt I constantly cause you.”

“Isn’t there another song that’s called  _ Love hurts _ ?”

“Yes, indeed. It does hurt, but we’ll work on it, won’t we?” Sherlock licked over his nose.

“Of course. Let’s go, honey. Oh, and we'll have to take care of the couch.”

“Yes, the PM could come over and might want to sit down on it.”

“In this case, we will just leave it as it is.”

“You’re a bad man, Mycroft Holmes.”

“Yes. Bad and proud of it.”

And then they walked upstairs, hand in hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I dedicate this chapter to Jeff Buckley, a wonderful singer who died much too young. I know this song has been sung to death in every casting show, but his version is touching my heart. Here it is if you want to check it out:
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=WIF4_Sm-rgQ


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is a little different: a case fic and nearly no smut :) Oh, but a very rude Sherlock!

“And you are absolutely sure about that? You did see him?” John asked carefully, playing with the pen in his hand.

“I’m telling you - it was him! He was just walking down the street, coming out of Harrods! I saw him last week, and I wasn’t sure, but I saw him again, just two hours ago, and I know it was him! And I’m sure that there will be a reward, won’t it!” The eyes of the old woman were sparkling with greed.

“Well, I don’t know… Sherlock?” His voice sounded rather shy. Apparently he was expecting an explosive reply.

Sherlock slowly turned his head and stared at their client. “Pardon me? You want to know if there is a reward for what - presenting him to the authorities? Besides that fact that you’re telling us here the stupidest crap I’ve ever heard - and believe me, that means something - and that you are totally insane if you want to hear my humble opinion - even if it had been him, which is totally not the case, it’s not forbidden to disappear and let the world believe that you are dead.” _Oops …_

“And you know, you can believe him that - he’s an expert in that matter,” John mumbled.

“But it was him! And I bet many people would see that completely differently than you, Mister Smartarse Detective! I want you to keep Harrods under surveillance and follow him and tell me where he lives, and I will get the money!”

John turned his head away, his shoulders were trembling and he was covering his mouth with his right hand. Sherlock took a deep breath. But before he could say anything, John interfered; he had gained his self-control back amazingly quickly. “You know, our charges are pretty high for that. You would need to pay each of us five thousand pounds for each day of surveillance.”

“What, are you crazy? Ten thousand pounds per day?”

“You know what, you…” A sharp knock at the door interrupted Sherlock. _Mycie!_

But it wasn’t his man. It was DI Lestrade. “I’m sorry, boys, Missus, but I have something I need your help on. Any chance I could take you on a little tour to lovely Whitechapel on this beautiful morning?”

“Thank God,” Sherlock hissed and was already getting up. “Okay, _Mrs I-don’t-know-your-name-anymore-and-I-don’t-give-a-damn_ \- I’m sorry but we cannot do anything for you. Have a nice day. Lucky, let’s go.”

He left the room without a look back. While they were going downstairs, Lestrade said: “You were a little rude to the old lady, weren’t you?”

“Oh, he was actually rather kind! He even wished her a nice day,” John came to Sherlock’s defence.

“If that’s kind, well… But then, I forgot it’s _Sherlock_ we’re talking about.”

“Sherlock is right next to you,” Sherlock reminded him. “So what is it about?”

“Get into the car, boys. Yes, you too, little boy. And listen…”

*****

“My people have looked everywhere, they have turned the street upside down - there’s no sign of it, and the dogs didn't find any trace besides the way he had walked. It has just disappeared. It was raining at this time as you might remember, which made it more difficult for the dogs, but still they should have found it.”

They were standing on a dirty, desolate pavement in one of the most infamous quarters of London. There was nothing but garbage, ugly, old houses and hopelessness. And a murder had happened here thirty-six hours ago.

“Perhaps somebody found it and took it away for future use?” John suggested.

“That’s the worst scenario. But the Bobbies were here so fast that I don’t believe that. The alarm in the shop had called them before the gangsters had even left it. It must be somewhere in this street.” Lestrade seemed to be quite desperate.

“Did you look into the letterboxes of the houses?” Sherlock asked and watched his dog sniff around, apparently excited about all the strange smells.

“Yes, Donovan had the same idea. Nothing. Of course, somebody could have taken it out of his letterbox. But the dogs were in every house and didn’t sense anything. It is as if the knife had never existed. And still there’s a dead body with a knife-wound in his heart and I know damn well who killed him…”

Sherlock looked around. It was only about a hundred metres distance between the place where a man had been found dead in a huge puddle of blood and the spot where his accomplice in the robbery of a pawnshop two streets away had been stopped by the uniformed police - with the bag containing the stolen money and jewellery in his hands, but without the murder weapon.

“It could have been an _invisible-man_ -case, Sherlock, just as with Major Sholto!” John said.

“No.” Lestrade shook his head. “On the video from the shop you can see that there was no blood on his shirt when they broke in. It was a loosely-falling, white t-shirt, a little dirty but it’s clear that he had not been injured before they got in the shop. He didn’t wear anything that would have kept the blood from flowing.”

“Does the man you have in your cell have a police record?” Sherlock wanted to know.

“Oh yes, both of them have, but not for violent assaults. I don’t know what to do, Sherlock, I don't have any  proof that Simpson killed his partner, but I know he did it.”

“Any chance that I could have a look at him?”

“I’d be delighted. He won’t have to talk to you of course, but perhaps he will even want to. He claims to be innocent all the time.”

“Alright, I don’t think I can be of any help here. It seems you guys have thought of every possibility.”

“Let’s go to the Yard then.”

*****

“Consulting detective? Well, whatever that is and whoever you are, I'll tell you what I told everybody who asked me: I didn’t kill Cole! He was my best friend, I could have never killed him…”

Sherlock was sitting next to Lestrade at a table in the interrogation room; the man who was suspected to be a murderer was seated in handcuffs on the other side. “Who did then?” Sherlock asked Rory Simpson, a huge, well-trained man with a bald head, piercing blue eyes and two impressive arms full of tattoos. The body art was surprisingly tasteful and well done for a notorious criminal. He balled his bound hands to fists and relaxed them all the time, his look was full of grief. To Sherlock he didn’t look like a murderer.

“I don’t know, man, nobody!”

“You should come up with a better story, Simpson,” Lestrade threw in. “Shall I show you the picture of his chest again? You want to see the hole in his heart again?”

“I don’t know it, I swear it! We were in the shop, yes, we robbed it, yes, and then I heard the sirens and just ran, I heard that Cole was behind me but he was not such a fast runner, and I… wanted to get away. I didn’t look if he was following me. I ran two streets or so, and then the Bobbies had me.”

“Where is the knife?” Lestrade asked with a threatening voice.

“I know nothing about a knife! I don’t have one!” Simpson turned to Sherlock. “Help me, man, I’m no good, I know, I’m a thief and will always be a thief, but I didn’t kill Cole! I've never killed anyone!”

Sherlock nodded and stood up. “I’m finished with him,” he told Lestrade and left the room.

“And, what do you think?” the DI asked him after closing the door behind them.

“I want to see the body.”

“Alright, let’s go the morgue.”

*****

Sherlock took a close look at Cole Miller’s pale, slim body. Or at the hole in his chest to be precise. His left nipple was surrounded by a blue and green tattoo; Sherlock had no idea what it could mean. But in the middle of it, an inch under the nipple, was the bloodless slit that had killed him.

“It was done at an angle of ninety degrees?”

“Yes, it looks like,” Molly Hooper said. “The killer must have stood right in front of him.”

“Does that say anything about his height?”

“I suppose he must have been a lot taller than him. The wound is straight so he couldn’t have bent his arm.”

“Simpson is almost two heads taller. It would fit. But still …” He looked over to Lestrade who just shrugged, and then turned to his partner. “John, what do you think?”

The doctor came closer. “You know, I’m not exactly a pathologist, but… the wound isn’t very deep, is it?”

“No, the blade more or less just scratched the heart. But it caused severe inner bleedings. The blade was very thin and very sharp,” Molly explained. She was all professional today, Sherlock had noticed to his relief. But he did also notice that she looked back and forth between him and John when she thought nobody would catch it. Probably she imagined them in bed together…

“Simpson is huge and so are his arms. If he had really stabbed him, shouldn’t the wound be deeper?” Sherlock asked.

“It’s hard to say, it depends on so many factors, how far he was away from him, if he moved. All I can say is that there are scratches on his hands so it seems that he tried to fight back.”

“And still the wound is completely straight,” Sherlock mumbled. Then he turned to Lestrade. “Can I see the pawnshop? Or has it been cleaned up already?”

“No, it’s all like it was after our guys had left. I’ll bring you there, but I'll have to go to Dr Neeson first for another case if you don’t mind waiting for a couple of minutes.”

“No problem. I’ll see how Lucky is doing and play ball with him until you come out.”

“Alright, catch you outside then. Cheers Molly.” Lestrade left the morgue and John followed him after a shy goodbye to the pathologist.

“Sherlock, can you wait for a moment?” she asked when he turned to leave as well.

He sighed internally. “Sure. Any other conclusions?”

“No, it… has nothing to do with the case.” She leaned against the stretcher.

“How’s… um…” Sherlock tried to make conversation.

“Martin? Good, yes, he’s nice. And he’s fine.”

“That’s good.”

“Sherlock, why have you never told me that you loved John?”

 _Dear God…_ “I thought that this was clear to everybody. Even Mycroft thought I was interested in him for years before… I told John.” _Shit, concentrate!_

“It was not clear to me. When you said… that I mattered to you…”

“I've never meant it that way, Molly, I thought that was obvious. Listen, I gotta go now. And I’m sure that you have things to do as well.”

“You’ve never really liked me, have you? You’ve always just… used me.”

“Oh please! I come to you when I have questions only a pathologist can give me answers to, for cases I try to solve for Scotland Yard. And yes, you provided a body for me so I could trick Jim Moriarty, the most dangerous man on earth, and the killers he had on John, Lestrade and Mrs Hudson. If that’s using you, I’m guilty as charged.”

“You’ve never changed, right? You’re exactly as cold and careless for people as you were when we first met.”

“I’m actually not. I do love somebody. John,” he quickly added.

“Are you sure that you don't just use him, too?”

“You know what, I’m absolutely sure. I’d give my life for him.”

“So you and John are together now?”

Sherlock realised that again he had done something _a bit not good_. “No, we’re not. But that’s nothing you should be concerned about.”

“But he loves you, too, I can see that he does. Why are you not together then?”‘

Sherlock closed his eyes. Would that never end? He had to justify every minute he was spending with the man he loved, and now he also had to justify not doing anything with the man he said he loved - not only to John but also to Molly? He just hated that all and he had enough of this woman. “Why do you want to know that? Why does it matter to you if John and I are fucking with each other or not?” He could hardly suppress a grin when she went even paler than she had already been thanks to his deliberate choice of words.

“Because I want you to be happy, I've always wanted that. And I’m not talking about… what you said…”

“No, that’s not true. You still want me for yourself and you think if I’m not _fucking_ John, you might still have a chance, you would drop Morty in an instant if I said I was interested in you.”

“His name is Martin!”

“Oh, I don’t give a damn what his name is, and you don’t give a damn about him. You’re not a bit better than I am. You’d do everything to have me because you also only care about yourself and the one thing that is important to you, which is me.”

“I can’t believe it! You think you are so great? You’re just a bastard and I don’t want you!” Her voice was unpleasantly shrill.

“Alright, now that we are clear with that, I wish you a lovely day. Be nice to your patients.” With this Sherlock turned and headed for the door.

“I hate you!” she screamed behind him.

“Martin will be pleased to hear that,” Sherlock retorted with a nonchalant wave of his hand and left the morgue. Outside on the pavement he met John and Lucky.

“Is everything okay? I thought I heard somebody scream,” John said.

Sherlock took the leash from his hand. “That was Molly. I told her how crazy I am about you, and she didn’t take it well.”

“But Sherlock, we need her, I mean…”

“I think you’ll have to consult her alone in future. And what was the name of the other guy Lestrade wanted to talk to? Perhaps he is easier to work with.”

“Dr Neeson is a nice guy, yes,” Lestrade said, joining them. “But I am not sure that he’ll be able to endure _you_ , Sherlock.”

“We shall see that. Can we go?”

*****

“God, what a mess,” John stated when they were stalking through the pawnshop. All the vitrines were destroyed, splinters were lying around - it looked as if a hurricane had crashed through the big, dark room.

“What they stole was all in the same bag?” Sherlock asked Lestrade.

“Yes, and our friend Mr Simpson had it in his hand when they caught him.”

Sherlock nodded and went to a vitrine where several expensive-looking rings were still stored. After a long look he said: “We can go.”

“Nothing to find here either, what?” the DI said in a hopeless tone when they stepped outside into the sunny day.

Sherlock removed Lucky’s leash from the pale it had been bound to. “Au contraire, I solved the case.”

John and Lestrade stared at him. “You did?” they said together.

“Oh, it was so obvious.”

Lestrade sighed. “Enlighten me, and then I can go and legally arrest Mr Simpson.”

“No, you will let him go. Or better, you can arrest him for the robbery. But he didn’t kill Miller.”

“And who did?”

“Nobody, just as he said.”

“Sherlock!” Lestrade’s voice got loud. “Don’t show off! Tell us!”

Sherlock took his phone out, his usual one as he didn’t want to use his secret mobile for Mycroft when anybody else was standing next to him. He texted his brother without bothering to look at the phone.

_Why are all people so stupid, even Lestrade? SH_

The phone vibrated only seconds later and now he did look at the display.

_Oh, you’re on a murder case? Show a little patience. It’s hard enough not to be a genius. MH_

“Sherlock!” Lestrade got even louder.

“Sorry. Well, there was no weapon found. Your guys didn’t catch any other suspect even though they were there very fast. The wound was not deep but caused a strong internal bleeding,” he summed up while he was texting at the same time.

_In Whitechapel, Alie Street, thirty-six hours ago, they found a dead thief with a stab wound in his heart, two streets away from the pawnshop he had robbed with another guy. His accomplice was caught only a hundred metres away from the body with the swag in a single bag. There was no knife on him or anywhere in this area. The wound was not deep but he bled internally very heavily, and he had some defensive wounds on his hand. What happened? I will show your reply to Lestrade. SH_

“Yes, and?”

“Simpson didn’t look like a killer to me.”

“Oh please, he’s a criminal - rotten to the core!”

Sherlock’s phone vibrated again and he looked at the display and smiled. Then he concentrated on Lestrade. “The stuff they had stolen was in one bag. I guess you checked if it was all that was missing?” He typed on his phone again.

“Yes, it was all. But what does that prove?”

“It proves that there was no fight about it between them. Both of them broke in and grabbed the stuff from the vitrines, but they put it all in one bag. Simpson would have never let Miller have the bag if he had planned to keep it all to himself. It would have been in two bags or Simpson would have kept it all from the start. And if Simpson had been carrying it when they came out, there wouldn't have been a reason for a fight and certainly not for the murder. Simpson is so much taller than Miller was, and definitely faster, he would have only had to run away. So the wounds in Miller’s hands could not be from the mysterious knife.” The phone buzzed again and Sherlock looked on it and smiled again before he replied to Mycroft.

“And? Where is the bloody knife?” Lestrade sounded rather resigned now.

Sherlock smiled, took his phone and scrolled through his texts. Then he showed the display to Lestrade but he didn’t hand him his mobile.

_They bother you with such an easy case? Alright then: they would have needed to destroy the vitrines in the shop to get to the items within. When he bent over, a sharp piece of glass cut the surface of his heart; the splinter broke off and stuck in his chest so there was no blood on the cabinet. The internal bleeding the cut caused was not bad enough to instantly kill him or making him go down; he was able to walk for a few minutes. He managed to pull the splinter out when he had left the shop, and he stepped on it and crushed it so it wasn’t found, the rain washed away the blood from the rest of it. When the splinter was not in his heart anymore, the bleeding increased. Eventually he collapsed and died. I’m in a meeting now so please only contact me if you have a difficult case. Have a good day. MH_

“Dear God,” Lestrade mumbled.

Sherlock shrugged. “If he wasn’t so busy you could just go directly to him with such a case. But as he is the British government, you will have to stick with me I’m afraid.” _And if I struggle, I can always ask him as I’m on pretty good terms with him nowadays…_

“Can I see it, too?” John demanded.

Sherlock preferred explaining it to him. “You weren’t far from the solution right in the beginning,” he said when he was finished. “Only that this time it wasn’t an invisible man but a weapon that became invisible, and there was no murderer. Okay, can you bring us back to Baker Street now, Greg? I hope that the lady who keeps seeing Elvis walking on the streets of London is gone now.”

*****

When the car had dropped them off, Sherlock told John to go upstairs with Lucky while he was going to Angelo to fetch some pasta for them. While he was walking there, he looked up the conversation he had not shown to Lestrade.

_You are so smart, Mycie. So much smarter than I am. I had to see the body and the scenery in the shop and talk to the accomplice, and you just figured it out from my summary. I admire you so much, you are not only Mr Sex but also Mr Brain. I will reward you when we meet up later. I love you. SH_

_Don’t be silly, Sherlock, I just saw the solution in your summary because I know you so well. You’re every bit as smart as I am, only much sexier. Having you with me later will be reward enough. And I love you, too. Can’t wait to see you and show you why everybody is calling me Mr Sex. Oh wait, no, I only am for you. Need to see the PM now so I’ll be in touch later. MH_

_You will be rewarded nevertheless, and I also have a special idea what I will do before we meet. I will show them your solution now. Love you. SH_

He put the phone away and entered the restaurant. Angelo spotted him at once and came over to him. “Sherlock, what a pleasure! What can I do for you today?”

Sherlock chose pasta for himself and John, and when Angelo had told the chef what he wanted, he took the Italian aside. “Listen, I know you have some contacts. I need someone discreet and competent.”

“Well, I only know people who are both. What kind of competence do you require?” He smiled when Sherlock had explained what he needed. “Oh, I know just the right guy for you. But he’s working in a pretty awful area.”

“Don’t worry, I got used to that today…”

“I’ll call him right away and ask him if he has time for you, Sherlock. You want it to be done today?”

“Yes, as soon as possible, around one-thirty I'd think.”

“I’ll be back in a minute with your pasta and an appointment.”

And he kept his promise. When Sherlock left to go to 221B, he was smiling.

*****

“Sorry, what did you say?” The Prime Minister stared at Mycroft in a way that made the politician wish he could just put something over his head to cover this expression. Burning tar would have been his first choice… As if their meeting earlier that day hadn’t been annoying enough, this man - accompanied by his inevitable assistant Albert Scott -  had to bother him again now that he was about to leave the office.

“I said that I’m not going to fly to Tunisia, sir. My very capable colleague Peter Warner will do it. He is completely aware of the matter and you can be sure that he’s going to do an excellent job.”

“I can’t believe that! This is a very important task, Mr Holmes!”

“I can assure you that I am totally aware of that. That’s why I will send my best man.”

“Isn’t he the man who offered a drink to…”

“Sir, he will be doing a perfect job, I can guarantee you that. If you excuse me now, I'll have to leave.”

“And what about this damn hacker, you haven’t gotten any further with that?”

“As a matter of fact, I haven’t. Or more precisely, the MI5 experts haven’t. But he has not caused any further damage as I believe.”

“Oh, and that makes it okay, fine, case closed?”

Mycroft took a very deep breath. “I’m sure that they will find him eventually. I need to go now, I have an appointment.” _An appointment with my beautiful, depressed, seductive, genial, breathtakingly sexy man…_ He grabbed his briefcase and went to the door of his office which led into Anthea’s.

“But I don’t see why you can’t go to Tunisia yourself! I’m sure that you could do other work from there as well!”

_Yes, but I couldn’t take Sherlock with me as it’s a Muslim country and I wouldn’t dare bring my boyfriend there, who’s also my brother by the way, and there is no way I’m going there without him, either…_

“I’m afraid I’m indispensable here at the moment, sir, and if you excuse me now…”

“But…”

“Mr Holmes, you’re going to be late for your appointment,” Anthea said calmly.

“Right, thank you, Anthea. Good evening, sir, Mr Scott.”

The PM grumbled something incomprehensible and gave it up. Scott shot Mycroft an admonishing glare and followed his boss out of them room.

Mycroft sighed deeply. “Indeed, thank you, Anthea. Sometimes… Just sometimes…”

She smiled. “I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about, sir.”

Mycroft smiled back. “Oh, it was nothing. You can go home now, too, if you want. Thank God it was a quiet day. And if something really urgent happens, they will certainly know how to find me. Enjoy your evening, goodbye.”

“Goodbye, sir, and you too. Oh, how’s the dog?”

Mycroft turned to her in the door. “He’s fine, thank you. He’s really remarkable and very easy to handle. My brother adores him.”

“I’m glad to hear that. He was very lucky that you’ve been there to save him.”

“I like to think so, too. Goodbye now.”

After he had left the building, he stopped abruptly as he realised that Anthea had mentioned the dog right after wishing him a nice evening. But then he shook his head and went to the car that was waiting for him. It surely had meant nothing.

He worked on a report on his way home, trying to concentrate on it and not fantasizing about what or better who was waiting for him. He had been happy to see how Sherlock’s mood had lightened up over the case, perhaps he did enjoy his profession a little more again, at least if he was allowed to work on something interesting. But Mycroft was not the type for being too illusory. The work had been Sherlock’s drug for dealing with his unspoken love for him, and now their relationship had captured every cell in his brain and his body and no drug in the world could numb the pain that he was feeling because of the difficulties that were included in their forbidden love.

And the way Sherlock had included him in the case told Mycroft all he had to know about how his lover was feeling about his work. Even when his brain had been occupied with solving an interesting puzzle, he had thought of him, had wanted Mycroft to be with him, as indirectly as it had to be. Sherlock had solved the case but Mycroft was sure that instead of explaining it to Lestrade and showing off as he would have done less than two months ago, he had just shown him Mycroft’s matching solution, that’s why he had warned him before and kept his own text rather impersonal. He had not wanted to show his own cleverness but Mycroft’s. And if Mycroft was really honest to himself, which he always tried to be, he was very happy that the puzzle had been so easy to solve after Sherlock’s hints. He wouldn’t have liked to fail Sherlock’s belief in him at all; it mattered too much to him how clever Sherlock thought he was…

He sighed when he realised that he didn’t really remember anything he had read, and he just shut down his tablet and stored it, and then leaned his head back and closed his eyes until they had reached his house.

At the door he was welcomed by an enthusiastic little dog that almost turned over from tail-wagging. He laughed and picked him up to go straight to the kitchen. Sherlock had texted him that he wanted to cook for them again, and the smell that lingered in the air proved that he was keeping his promise.

“Right in time for an early dinner,” Sherlock said when he entered the kitchen. Mycroft, still holding the dog on his arms, bent over to kiss him. Sherlock was wearing dark-blue training shorts and a casual black t-shirt over them, and he looked adorable.

“It smells great, as usual. You really spoil me, Sherlock.”

“You’re a hard-working, great man. It’s my pleasure to cook for you.”

“My my, Sherlock, can you imagine what John would think if he had heard that?”

“Oh yes, but I don’t care.” He looked at Mycroft rather sadly. “He didn’t try to get close to me today so I guess I can’t stay overnight.”

“Darling, we will make the best of the time we have, and you don’t have to be home early, have you? Papa John will not scold you if you’re late.”

“He can try. Then Papa John will turn into Mama John in no time.” Sherlock replied grimly.

Mycroft laughed. Carefully he put the Lucky on the floor and stepped closer to his man to embrace him, but Sherlock pulled back. “Not now, Mycie, and we'll have to take it a little easy today.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “What’s wrong, Sherlock?”

“Nothing’s wrong, really. I will explain after dinner, okay?”

“You don’t want to embrace me and you tell me that nothing’s wrong?” Mycroft was feeling cold, despite the warmth in the room.

But Sherlock smiled at him. “Exactly. Please, don’t spoil the surprise. And don’t worry, it’s not that I only want to hold hands tonight.”

“Sherlock, I hate that I have to say this but…”

“What?” Now Sherlock’s eyes narrowed as well.

“It’s not just about sex for me, you know! If we just held hands, I would be equally as happy as if we made love for hours.”

Sherlock’s features softened at once. He grinned broadly. “Liar.”

“Sherlock!” But he had to grin as well.

“Dinner’s ready!”

They ate and talked about the case. Mycroft chuckled when Sherlock explained the reactions of John and Lestrade. But when he talked about his conversation with Molly Hooper, he shook his head. “Oh honey, do you think that was very smart?”

“Perhaps it wasn’t. But as pissed off as she is, she really believes that I’m in love with John. Not so sensitive after all…”

“You might need her in future and I can’t imagine she will be very keen on helping you anymore.”

Sherlock just gave him a wave. “She’s not the only pathologist there, you know. And if Lestrade tells her, she will have to help me.”

Mycroft thought again that he had actually no idea what Sherlock had ever felt for the people who considered themselves his friends. But what he had just told him actually only led to one conclusion: he had not felt anything for them. It was almost impossible that such feelings could change so fast just because he experienced love now.

“Remember, you said it didn’t matter to you,” Sherlock said calmly and drank some water.

“Can you always read my mind?” Mycroft asked and put his cutlery on his empty plate.

“No, unfortunately not. But sometimes it’s very easy. Alright, since we are both finished, let me bring this into the kitchen and then I’ll show you my surprise.” He took the plates and left the room.

“Lucky, tell me, what is this about? What is _he_ about?” He felt only slightly silly to ask the dog, and just a little more silly about the fact that he almost expected an answer. He sighed and went over to the couch. Lucky followed him and jumped on it, and he patted his little head.

“Alright, are you ready?” Sherlock stood before him with a happy smile.

Mycroft honestly didn’t know if he was. But of course he nodded. “Go ahead.”

Sherlock lifted his t-shirt, pulled it over his head and threw it aside, revealing the shorts that were very low waist, and also one more thing. “Tada!”

“Oh… my… God! Sherlock, what… “ He reached out with his hand and then stopped before it could touch Sherlock’s skin and looked into his eyes. “Can I touch it?”

“Yes, the skin is still a little sensitive, but I had it done almost five hours ago and I cleaned it and creamed it and it will be fine now. As long as you don’t throw yourself on me, as much as that would usually delight me, or scratch me, it’s okay. It doesn’t hurt, the skin just feels pretty tight.”

Mycroft was already staring at Sherlock’s trained, muscular stomach again, and then he very carefully touched the fresh tattoo, around four centimetres in length and width, right above his short pubes, with one fingertip.

“I don’t know what to say to that, Sherlock.” His voice was quiet and pressed. He couldn’t take his eyes off their initials, a simple _MS_ in different shades of grey, the letters elegantly curved, the end of the M the beginning of the S, merged with each other just as their hearts were.

“You don’t have to worry, Mycie, it will always be hidden by my clothes, nobody except you is going to see it. I will be very careful to not get hurt so John won't have to undress me…”

Mycroft swallowed. That would indeed not be good. But… “Sherlock, I always want you to be careful so you won’t get hurt, tattooed or not!” Much too well he remembered that horrible time when John’s damn wife had shot at Sherlock. If it hadn’t been for Sherlock’s unexplainable forgiveness towards her, she would have disappeared after that. “And imagining John seeing that spot is not very soothing under any circumstances, either!”

“I know. But now I'll have an extra incentive to avoid that. Do you like it? I cannot wear a matching ring with your initials on it, but I felt such an urge to do this instead. Even though nobody will ever see it besides us, it will be there forever, a symbol for our love, as small and discreet as it is.”

Mycroft leaned forward and breathed a kiss on the still sore and swollen skin. “I love it, Sherlock, I can’t believe you have done that for me but I love it. It’s beautiful and it means so much to me.”

“Come up to me,” Sherlock demanded. Mycroft stood up and Sherlock cupped his face in his big hands. “I’m sorry I didn’t let you embrace me, I was just scared your zipper would chafe on it so it would have been less pleasant to reveal it to you; I’d have probably jumped away screaming.”

Mycroft kissed him tenderly. “That’s totally fine, Sherlock, I was just worried why you should avoid my touch. But let me make sure that I won’t hurt you.” He opened his trousers and got rid of them as well as his briefs and socks. “Nothing will chafe on it now, okay, except for my cock.” He thought he had to be looking rather stupid now, fully dressed above the waist and totally naked below it, so he took off his tie, vest and shirt along with the sleeve garters as well.

Sherlock chuckled. “Tomorrow it will be probably healed enough so we can have our usual steamy sex. But today I'll have to be a bit careful. Probably you think I’m a sissy now but I really don’t want to risk an infection.”

“Honey, you know I would never want to hurt you. And I can live without sex for one day. I mean… I don’t know actually, even though I’ve done it for years…”

“I’ve done it my entire life until we got together and I think _I_ can’t.” Sherlock winked at him.

“Let’s go upstairs so we can make ourselves as comfortable as possible. Lucky, you stay here!”

“Oh, I've gotten him something to keep him occupied.” Sherlock went to a bag that was standing beside the table, took out a huge chew bone and put it on the floor. Lucky immediately started to get his teeth in it.

“Good idea. A big bone for him, two big boners for us.”

“Oh, I will chew on yours, Mycie, don’t worry.”

“I think I’ve told you already, Sherlock: no teeth on my cock, please!”

“Good that you reminded me, Mycie. You know, you taste so good that I’m always tempted to bite off a piece of it.”

“Well, if you do that, it won’t be nearly as big anymore.”

“Damn, that’s true. I will contain myself then.”

“Sounds good to me.”

They had reached Mycroft’s bedroom in the meantime - Mycroft completely naked, Sherlock in his shorts, socks and shoes. He didn’t keep wearing any of it for too long though, and Mycroft insisted on helping him out of them.

“I’m not sick, you know,” Sherlock teased him. “I just got tattooed. By the way, I first considered bringing a picture of your face to the studio and let him do that. But then I thought you would be looking at yourself when you suck me, and it might be a little weird for you.”

Mycroft laughed. “A little indeed.” He took a seat on the bed next to him. “You know, I would do it, too. But with my hairy belly it would be a bit pointless…”

Sherlock laughed. “Yes, you would either have to shave every second day or it would always be hidden under your sexy fur.” He gently touched Mycroft’s face. “This is not a contest, you know, we’re not playing _but I love you more_.”

“This would be pointless, too, Sherlock, because I’d always win.”

Sherlock shook his head. “You know I’m not so easy to beat.” He kissed him on the cheek. “Do you really like the tattoo? I probably should have told you before I did it but… You know, the guy Lestrade thought had killed his friend had several tattoos on his arms, very well done, and the victim had one on his chest, and, well…”

“You thought what two criminals can do, Sherlock Holmes can do better?” Mycroft teased him. In fact he had always disliked tattoos; to him they had been vulgar and senseless and simply ugly. But seeing their initials together on Sherlock’s body just amazed him. Affected him. Excited him. Everything was different for him when it came to Sherlock.

“Yep, in a way… I wish I could have it on my chest, too, right above my heart, but I thought it would be too dangerous.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes, it’s safer where it is. And right above you cock, well, I think that’s a fitting place for it as well. Of course, your arse would have been an alternative.”

“Who said not too long ago that it wasn’t all about sex?”

“Oh, that was me I guess. But you know it isn’t, right?”

“Of course I do. You could have sex anytime, with anybody. That you chose me of all people, must mean something.” Sherlock gently stroked his face and his throat.

“Yes, right, seems you are mixing up yourself with me.”

“So that means you’re only with me because you are so unattractive and I was the only one who was interested?”

“No! I… You’re making fun of me again, right?”

“I’m impressed, you’re getting that faster with every day!”

“I’ve always said that I’m the smart one.”

“If you really believe that you are not beautiful, sexy and desirable, you cannot be that smart, no matter that you’re the British government and the fastest puzzle-solver on the planet.” Sherlock leaned in and kissed him tenderly, letting his hand slide through the hair on Mycroft’s chest and belly, rubbing his hardening length, and then he started to nibble at his throat.

“You see me through the eyes of love, Sherlock, and I’m very glad that you do.” Mycroft watched Sherlock’s hand that had closed around his shaft and was sliding up and down, and it was feeling so great that he started chewing on his bottom lip.

“Is there anything I can do to convince you of your beauty, Mycie?” Sherlock licked the sensitive spot behind his ear and it made him shiver.

“You don’t have to, Sherlock, if I have your love and know that I’m beautiful to you, I’m totally happy. Other people’s opinions don’t matter to me.”

Sherlock growled. “You’ll always have my love but it’s a fact that you are just beyond adorable, and I want you to see it, too. Because you’re right - what other people think of you doesn’t matter, but what you think about yourself does.”

“Are you being my therapist again?”

“Well, I guess we both have use for one. Just for different reasons…”

“Perhaps we should…”

“No, Mycie, we absolutely shouldn’t. That was a joke, all I need is you, and I’ll give you some therapy now.”

He slid over the bed so he was in front of Mycroft and urged him to spread his legs.

“No, Sherlock, if you do that, you have to bend down and that can’t feel good.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes, but he did it with a smile. “Alright, then I’d suggest I lie down flat on the bed and you kneel over my face for a 69.”

“You’re sure that you want to be aroused?”

Sherlock took his hard dick in his hand and hit the palm of the other one with it a few times. “Do I look as if I wasn’t already?”

“Alright, alright. I will make sure that my face keeps a distance from it. It looks really painful…”

“It’s not, really. God, you’re so sweet with your concern about me.”

“Sherlock, before we get started...”

“Yes?”

“Do you have a plan? If anybody sees the tattoo, what will you tell him what it means?”

“Good question. As I’m very sure that this is not going to happen, no, I don’t have a plan. You know, should a doctor other than John see it, he wouldn’t ask, would he? And who else should?”

“It’s improbable, I agree. But you never know. Shame that you didn’t switch our initials, you could have sold SM much easier.”

Sherlock laughed. “Speaking of that...” He turned so he could lie down on the bed, giving Mycroft enough room to linger over him without getting uncomfortable with his long legs.

Mycroft lowered his hips carefully so his stiff member was over Sherlock’s face. He moaned when Sherlock grabbed it and sucked it into his wet, hot mouth with one smooth movement. He felt his whole body shivering with pleasure and bent his head back involuntarily.

Sherlock mumbled something, still having his cock in his mouth.

“You know I can’t understand you when you talk around my dick?” He felt said dick losing his pleasant home.

“Sorry. I just meant to say that you can start doing it for me anytime.”

“Oh, yes, sorry. I got distracted by your talented tongue.” He hissed when these wonderful lips closed around his member again, and then he went to work himself. He cupped the big, red head with his lips and let them slide down tightly, then up again and back down, his tongue tangling around the shaft and the leaking knob while doing so, and every time he almost let it slide out of his mouth, his eyes were focused on the tattoo. His head was spinning, and not only from looking down. It was so amazing for him that Sherlock had taken to such efforts to have a visual sign of their love, forever engraved right into his precious skin, marking him as Mycroft’s property for the rest of his life.

What could be a better proof that Sherlock really loved him as much as he claimed to do? Mycroft knew that people got the names of their crushes tattooed in their skins all the time, not knowing what to do after the undying love had gone for good. But he and Sherlock were not just usual people. Sherlock might have done it spontaneously, and he hadn’t bothered thinking of an excuse should anyone see it, but he had definitely done it because he was not only sure but he _knew_ that his feelings for Mycroft would never vanish.

He let Sherlock’s tasty dick plop out of his mouth. “I love you, Sherlock.”

He felt Sherlock stop sucking on his dick and then it was Sherlock’s right hand that was working on it instead of his mouth. “I love you, too, Mycie. Forever.”

Mycroft pressed a kiss on a muscular thigh. “Yes, Sherlock, forever.”

And then both of them went to work again, and not long after, a very real proof of their mutual _desire_ for each other was shooting into their respective willing mouths.

They went downstairs after it, both dressed in robes, and Mycroft sat down on the couch with Sherlock was lying on it, his head resting in his lap, his eyes closed. Mycroft softly fondled his curls and tried to watch the news, but his gaze flickered to Sherlock’s stomach every ten seconds; his robe was open and he couldn’t stop looking at this sign of their love. And then his eyes turned to Sherlock’s face, and he realised not only his tremendous beauty for about the millionth time but also that he looked pretty worn out. They had not slept much the night before as sleep wasn’t their priority when they were together. But tonight he wouldn’t do anything with Sherlock but caressing him and making sure that he’d sleep tightly.

When the news were over without him noticing too much of it, he grabbed his phone from the table and wrote a text.

“Working?” Sherlock mumbled sleepily.

“No.” He held the display so Sherlock could see it.

_John, Sherlock will stay at my spare room again tonight. He’s not feeling too well, he probably ate something that was not agreeing with his stomach. MH_

Sherlock opened his eyes widely. “Oh, great! But that was not a hint at my cooking, was it?”

“Of course not. You are as great at that as at everything else. But I’m afraid if you go home, you won’t sleep. And tonight you will just sleep,” he hurried to add. “You look very tired and don’t tell me I do, too, because I know that already.”

“So you don’t want me to stay in your bed? You’ll send me to the guest room? You don’t want me to stay because you want to have me at your side?”

“Sherlock, I…” He sighed. “You are a little mean sometimes, you know?”

Sherlock grinned. “Me? No way!” He reached out and touched Mycroft’s face. “But I don’t really have to sleep there, do I?”

“Of course not,” Mycroft said again. “But we will just sleep.” His phone buzzed and he looked at the text. And sighed again and answered.

“Let me guess, he asks if I’m okay and if you are sure that it’s nothing serious.”

“I somehow forgot that he’s a doctor. But that should soothe him.” He put the phone away and Sherlock got up.

“Time to go to bed then!” He gave Lucky a tender touch on the head and headed for the corridor.

“Going to sleep, right?” Mycroft took a look at the clock on the wall. It was half past seven…

“Oh, come on, you really think I want to _sleep_ now?”

“But you said we should take it easy today!” He followed Sherlock after touching Lucky as well. The dog was still busy with his chew bone but wagged his tail.

“Ah, sod that. You will just fuck me missionary style without lying down on me. Easiest thing in the world. But make sure that you shoot your load into my arse, not over the tattoo.”

“Sherlock, you are…”

“I know: amazing, irresistible, genial and right-out wonderful.” He jumped up the stairs.

 _Yes, you are_ , Mycroft thought _. All this and so much more_. And he hurried to follow him.


	16. Chapter 16

“Sherlock!”

The detective startled about the doctor’s sharp voice and focused his absent look on him and the forty-year old man who were both staring at him. He hadn’t heard a word the client had said, and apparently John had just asked him something.

“I totally agree”, he made a try.

John closed his eyes for a moment. “Alright, I’ll make tea then.”

Sherlock nodded. “That’s nice.” It was the sixth client they were seeing this morning. The cases had all been extremely uninteresting - a range from  _ somebody is peeing at my car every night _ to  _ I think my mother-in-law is a descendant of the witches of Salem _ ; the latter being at least a little creative as he had to admit.

He had felt incredibly tense the entire morning; he had not been in touch with Mycroft since his car had dropped him and Lucky off at Baker Street on Mycroft’s way to work. His texts to his lover had not been answered, so clearly the politician was too busy to even drop him a line. And even though they had spent the night together and only parted four hours ago, Sherlock was missing him tremendously, and without even the comfort of reading a text from him, it was so difficult for him to function the way John and their clients expected from him.

The moment John returned with the tea finally Sherlock’s phone chirped. He grabbed for the one in his jacket and then realised that it was the other one, the one only Mycie knew about, stored invisibly in his shirt pocket. He fumbled it out and eagerly looked on the display.

_ My my, Sherlock, what a morning… I’m sorry I couldn’t get back to you but I was in an unforeseen meeting. I’ve just got out and will try to rest a bit at Diogenes and be back in the next one in little more than an hour. I have no idea when I'll come home tonight. I should have saved telling John that you have to stay over because you’re sick for tonight. Perhaps you can invent something for him? I want to see you tonight. MH _

_ Don’t worry, I’ll wait for you and will make sure that I can stay. Make sure that you eat something! SH _

_ Anthea has gotten me a sandwich, don’t you worry. Love you, MH _

_ Love you, too. See you very soon. SH _

Sherlock got up as soon as he’d sent the text. “I need to go. Mycroft needs my assistance.”

“But we’re having a client here! And since when do you have this phone?”

Sherlock looked at the dark-blue mobile as if he’d never seen it before. He had told Mycroft he should only use it after Sherlock had texted him from this number so John would not get it that he had a second one. But apparently Mycroft was so stressed that he had forgotten.

“It’s a secret one,” he told the doctor. “Mycroft uses it when I need to do something… secret for him,” he finished rather lamely.

“So I’m not involved in his cases anymore? Why not, because he doesn’t trust me or because you want to spend more time without me? If you only gave us a chance, Sherlock, you wouldn’t have to run from me! I could make you so happy!”

Sherlock sighed internally. But before he was forced to react to that, the client stood up. “I’m going. Your behaviour is impossible! You don’t listen to me, you ignore me, and now I see you are gay! That’s disgusting!”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You'll find the door yourself or shall I kick you out?” he asked coldly. The man ran out of the room.

“Oh, fuck, I’m sorry, Sherlock, I shouldn’t have said that. This all makes me totally confused.” John rubbed his eyes and looked at him heartrending. Or it would have been if Sherlock had cared…

“I’m sorry, too, John, for me it’s even more difficult,” he took the chance. “I’ll stay with Mycroft again tonight, we need more distance from each other, John, or this whole situation will drive both of us mad. I need to talk to him anyway about this case. Gotta go now, see you sometime. If there’s a client, tell him to come in tomorrow.”  _ Or just never, I don’t give a damn… _

“Sherlock, I wish you…”

“Bye John. Lucky, come on, we’re going to Daddy.” He bit on his lip as soon as he’d said that. But since John’s expression of frustration, sadness and confusion didn’t change, he just left with the dog.

About fifteen minutes later he entered the Diogenes club with a bag in his hand and Lucky on his leash. He didn’t know if dogs were allowed there and he didn’t care. They should try to take Lucky away from him… But they got in the back-room area undisturbed. In the room before Mycroft’s, he met Anthea. She smiled when she saw him.

“Mr Holmes, oh, and I do know you!” Lucky immediately greeted her with a severe hand-lick and lots of tail-wagging.

“Hi Anthea. Is he in there?” Sherlock asked.

“Yes, just go through.”

He thanked her and knocked at the door. It felt strange to do so but this was Mycroft’s work area, a place where he was sacrosanct and feared and just so damn important. But then he said “Yes?” and Sherlock entered the office and it was just Mycie, his face brightening up when he saw who the intruder was; the happy smile and the pure joy to see Sherlock made his heart jump. On the desk there was a half-eaten sandwich and a cup with coffee.

“Sherlock, what a lovely surprise!” He stood up and came to him, and Sherlock put the bag on his desk and embraced him. Lucky tried to crawl up his leg, and Mycroft managed to kiss Sherlock and reach down with his long arm to pat on the furry head at the same time.

“It’s great to see you, I'll just have to leave in about half an hour again,” Mycroft told him excusatory.

“Don’t worry, I just wanted to drop by and bring you something.” Sherlock opened the bag and took out a fruit salad and a fork. “You will need some vitamins to get through this day.”

“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. Thank you, honey! Take a seat!”

Sherlock threw himself into the chair in front of the desk and Mycroft sat down in his as well. Somehow Sherlock didn’t like having a big desk between them but this was Mycroft’s work room in the end.

“You mind if I go on eating?”

“Please! I brought you something to eat!”

“Okay.” Mycroft finished his sandwich and then started devouring the fruits. “That mango is delicious, come, taste it.” He offered the fork with a big piece of fruit to Sherlock and he picked it up with his mouth.

“Very agreeable,” he said after chewing it. “So what’s the matter, why this long conferences?”

Mycroft swallowed and sighed. “It seems there is a traitor in a very high position in the Secret Service or in our department.”

“Oh. Any idea who? And who is he giving information to?”

Mycroft explained to him that three MI6 missions had failed since the day before. And the only conclusion was that somebody had informed the targets beforehand.

“We don’t know who it is. But he must have access to top secret information. Now we have to look at everybody involved in the matters, and there are lots of possibilities, not only officials but also their assistants for example.”

“I see. How many names?”

Mycroft sighed again. “Come around and see yourself.”

Sherlock got up and stepped behind the desk, taking the opportunity to put a hand on his lover’s shoulder, and looked at the computer display. There were dozens of names. “I would have never thought that so many people were involved in top secret matters.”

“It’s a huge organisation, Sherlock. All of them are allegedly trustworthy people, but one of them must be a rotten egg. If we don’t find out who he is, we’ll be in big trouble. The mission in Russia was especially important, and all at once the suspects were all gone.”

Sherlock could feel the tense in his shoulders, and he felt the strong urge to be close to him. He bent down and kissed the soft skin above his shirt collar and rubbed his nose behind his ear, embracing him tight from behind with his right arm. And his heart melted when Mycroft leaned back against his throat and turned his head to him so they could kiss. Mycroft tasted of fruit and coffee and Sherlock explored his mouth with his tongue, putting as much affection as possible into the kiss, trying to cheer him up and make him feel better. His hand slightly rubbed one of his nipples through the shirt, and it got hard below his fingertips.

“Oh Sherlock, that feels so good,” Mycroft said hoarsely. “I wish so much I could go home with you now instead of…” He broke off and gave him a wry smile.

Sherlock straightened up again, very unwilling to break the contact that had comforted him every bit as much as Mycroft. “I know, honey. I will go home now and you'll come as soon as you can. I told John I won’t come back tonight so we can be together the entire night again. And… What is that?” He looked at something that somehow had escaped his eyes before.

Mycroft followed his gaze to the corner of his office. Then he smiled. “It’s a treadmill, Sherlock. I do have one in my gym at home, too.”

“And since when do you have one here?”

“Not for that long. I thought if I have to sit around all day, I will get all limb and fat, and I can think quite well while using it. I can listen to reports over headphones and do some sports.”

“This is why your legs are looking more trained with every day!”

“Well, you caught me. I like to look as good as possible for you with my limited possibilities.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Very limited, yes. You are fucking handsome and I will tell you that until you finally believe me or either you or I drop dead, whatever happens first.”

“I do appreciate your efforts, darling. Listen, thanks very much for coming and bringing me this really tasty food. I'll need to go soon so…” He looked very unhappy and Sherlock kissed him once more.

“Don’t you worry, honey, I'll leave you alone now but when you are sitting in this conference, just think of me, waiting for you in your bed, naked and ready for you.”

“Oh Sherlock, I should better refrain from doing so… I love you. Oh, how’s the tattoo? Still hurting?”

Sherlock gave him another peck. “Not at all, it’s totally fine. If you want, you can touch it and lick it and even scratch on it tonight. I love you, too, Mycie. Text me or call me if you can and if you need some encouragement. And if you think I can be of any help to you, let me know.”

“I will. And I already miss you.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “I know what you mean. Bye for now, love.”

He took the leash and left the office with Lucky. “Bye, Anthea,” he greeted the assistant when he walked past her desk.

“Bye, Mr Holmes.” She smiled at him fondly, and he wondered since when she was so approving of him. Probably it was because she knew that her boss and he got along much better now and Mycroft wasn’t on the verge of a heart attack anymore when they met.

“Come on, Lucky, let’s go home. And cross fingers that they’ll find this traitor soon. Oh, I forgot you don’t have any.” Lucky barked and he smiled. Then he went looking for a cab.

As soon as he and the dog had entered Mycroft’s house, he fed him and gave him fresh water and then he went to the gym. He knew that Mycroft thought that he was too thin, and he also didn’t mind gaining a few pounds, but he wanted to be all muscles and no fat. So he had an extended weight-lifting session and also manhandled the punch bag for half an hour. He thought of Mycie training so he’d look better for Sherlock and he was very touched by that. Not that Mycroft had any reason for this as to Sherlock he was already perfect, but his efforts motivated Sherlock to do the same for him. He still didn’t feel worn out enough so he stepped on the treadmill. After running for a couple of minutes, he startled when something small and furry jumped on the training tool, right in front of his legs, and started running, too. Sherlock laughed so hard that he almost fell over. “Oh Lucky, you’re so funny.” 

It was difficult to run for him though without stepping on the dog, so he got off, grabbed his phone and ordered a used dog tread at eBay. After that he showered and shaved and then curled up with Lucky in the comfortable bed, both of them falling asleep at once.

*****

It was almost nine when Mycroft finally arrived in his house. Everything was dark and quiet but he knew that that Sherlock was there. He could just sense his presence. He hung up his jacket and went upstairs after checking the gym and the living room. When he saw his man and his dog sleeping peacefully in his bed together, he watched them with a smile for several minutes before he took a quick shower and shaved. He had not had taken care of that in his office as he didn’t want to come home even later.

He didn’t bother dressing again but just slid into his bed. Lucky woke up but didn’t bark, instead licking his face. “Good boy, now go downstairs,” Mycroft told him after some intense ear-rubbing, and as usual, Lucky immediately obeyed. He looked after him, shaking his head in disbelief about the little guy’s cleverness, and then he turned to Sherlock. He knew that he should have let him sleep as he’d been so exhausted lately, but he also knew that Sherlock would not approve of sleeping while they could have done something else. So he carefully removed the blanket from his lover’s naked body and admired the sight for a minute before he bent down and tenderly licked over Sherlock’s left nipple, his hand sliding down his body until it touched the tattoo. Sherlock mumbled something but didn’t wake up. He increased the pressure of his tongue and sucked at the soft, pink piece of flesh and then he felt Sherlock’s hand on the back of his head.

“Hello,” he softly said and got up to kiss him. He was pulled into a tight embrace and a passionate kiss and he was happy to give into both.

“How did it go?” Sherlock finally asked and stroked his face.

“We still don’t know any more. I’m starting to believe there is not even a traitor. It could have just been a coincidence. But if there is one, he didn't leave any traces. Nobody got rich all at once; well at least we cannot find any huge sums of money in anybody’s British or otherwise traceable accounts. Of course it could be stored in another country that doesn’t allow us access. And nobody is behaving suspiciously. But anyway, I don’t really want to talk about that now, if you don’t mind. I’ve really had enough of that today. Even though, if the conclusion just pops up in your mind, feel free to let me know.”

“I’m afraid that won’t happen now. So what would you like to do instead?” Sherlock’s voice was sultry silk.

“Something that doesn’t cause me moving too much,” he admitted. It had been such a long, tough, unnerving day.

“Sleep?” Sherlock suggested but he didn’t sound as if he’d be too happy about a positive answer.

“Not yet. Perhaps you could just take me from behind with both of us lying?”

“Of course. As a matter of fact, I somehow feel very much like licking you now so I will prepare you with my tongue.”

With this he gently pressed Mycroft on the mattress and pushed him on his stomach, sliding down on the bed, and a moment later Mycroft felt a hot tongue licking his arse crack. He didn’t try to suppress a moan and closed his eyes, giving into the sensation of his man putting his sharp tongue to very soft use. He still felt a little self-conscious about Sherlock licking his hairy body; the hair was just everywhere and around his hole it was pretty dense. But he could feel and hear Sherlock’s fast breathing and he knew that it turned him on.

“You like my hair, Sherlock?” he just had to ask him and received an especially wet lick into his hole.

“Love it, Mycie, love to lick you through it. You taste and feel so good.”

Mycroft felt his longue tongue breach into him once more and it felt so incredibly hot. His untouched cock was hard and wet already and he started stroking himself.

He heard the opening of the bottle with lube and then cool, sticky wetness was rubbed into him by a demanding, skilful finger. “Enter me now, Sherlock, please,” he begged and then the finger was replaced by a long, big dick, first slowly teasing but very soon thrusting into him rhythmically. The feeling of his prostate being hit again and again and the panting and the moans of his man pushed him over the edge much faster than he wanted, and he came over his hand and the linen. He tightened his passage extra hard and Sherlock moaned and he could feel his semen just splashing into him with force.

“So good,” he mumbled and felt himself being pressed against Sherlock’s sweaty chest, and then he just felt drifting off to sleep.

*****

The next couple of days went by in the same pattern. Mycroft managed to come home earlier eventually as all efforts to find the supposed traitor led to nothing and no other missions failed; so it seemed it really just had been a coincidence.

Sherlock made sure to not take any case in the late afternoon and even turned a murder case down that would have kept him from spending the evening with his lover. He went to Mycroft’s house as soon as possible, did some excessive training while Lucky was doing the same on his beloved dog tread; when the weather was nice, he also jogged to the park and played ball with him. Sometimes they met Oscar and his huge dogs, and Lucky played with them until he let himself drop on the floor, panting and happy.

Later Sherlock cooked for them, and when Mycroft came home, they ate, talked and had sex in every imaginable way, depending on Mycroft’s mood and state of exhaustion. Sherlock hated to leave in the late evening, but he knew that Mycroft needed to sleep, and he decided to spare him the trouble of throwing him out so he used to leave around eleven o'clock by himself. During the day, Mycroft didn’t have much time for extended texting, but he managed to call Sherlock at least once a day and Sherlock dropped whatever he’d been doing to talk to his man for as long as possible. 

On Saturday they did some grocery shopping together and went to the park again, and Sherlock had no problem staying with him during the night because John was on a visit to Dublin. Sherlock and Mycroft just spent the next day in bed except for quick meals and walks with the dog (even though Lucky made good use of his dog tread). It was a wonderful, relaxing day, and when Sherlock took a seat on Mycroft’s cock on Sunday night and felt him sliding deep inside him while his long fingers were holding Sherlock’s hips, he was as happy as he could get, enjoying this intimate moment and the love he saw in his man’s eyes.

On Monday morning he got up as early as Mycroft and they had breakfast together. Mycroft read the newspaper while Sherlock was glancing over the online-news just to be occupied. The only information that sounded slightly interesting was a murder that had been committed about thirty kilometres outside of London on Saturday evening. A man had been stabbed at seven-thirty in the entrance hall of his house; they knew the exact time because he had been on his phone and had apparently dropped it with a burbling scream. Scotland Yard was searching for witnesses and the article sounded as if they didn’t have much hope to find any. He mentioned the case when Mycroft asked him if he had read anything interesting, and then drank up his tea.

When Mycroft was finished with his eggs and his coffee, he gently touched Sherlock’s cheek. “I'll get ready and then I'll have to leave. Do you want me to drop you off at Baker Street or would you like to stay here?”

“I definitely want to stay here, but I think I’ll have to go. John won’t be there, he will only come back in the evening and God forbid that any clients show up and nobody’s there…” He could almost hear the doctor lament and he knew that he would really not be willing to kiss him to shut him up.

Mycroft bent over and kissed him before he started clearing the table. “Perhaps there will be an interesting case today. Lestrade might even ask you for help with this stabbing.”

Sherlock got up and sighed. Even if he did, it wouldn’t interest him. He saw Mycroft glancing over to him with a concerned expression, and he put on a placating smile. But Mycroft raised his eyebrows and smiled back a little sadly. He just knew him too well.

When Mycroft’s limousine stopped in front of 221, they had been holding hands the entire way and had kissed each other nonstop. Sherlock was so reluctant to get off the car that he was about to beg his man to take him to his office and just let him sit there and adore him for the day. But of course he didn’t and finally said goodbye and left him together with Lucky.

He had a rather quiet morning with only two clients presenting the usual stupid problems ( _ The milkman is a terrorist _ and  _ My letters always disappear from the pillar box _ ).  After having ushered the second one out of the house, he played ball with Lucky while he was musing about building up a gym in his flat so he could train during the day. He liked how his arms had become very strong already; his chest was bigger and his stomach even more sculpted, making it possible for him to let his love-tattoo dance which never failed to make Mycroft laugh. And he was absolutely thrilled by the way Mycroft looked at him when they were making love, not only with love in his eyes but also admiration for his beautiful, muscular body.

Sherlock had never thought of himself as beautiful before; he hadn’t wasted any thoughts about how he might appear to people since none of them had counted. He had never reckoned that he would ever have sex with anyone, so why would he have bothered about his looks. He had been grateful for being able to run fast if required and not cared about being muscular. But he just discovered that he was indeed athletic and bulking up very quickly. He would never be a second Dwayne Johnson, but he was looking like a middleweight boxer and he was determined to train a lot more. He only hoped Mycroft wouldn’t feel obliged to compete with him. His body type was completely different from Sherlock’s, and though he was well-trained with muscular legs, he would never be as buff as him, and Sherlock didn’t even want that. He loved Mycroft just the way he was. But of course he would not love him any less if his body changed. He smiled when he remembered how Mycie had told him he would love him with green hair or an eye on his forehead. There was nothing to add to this.

“Do you want to go outside?”  he asked the dog. Lucky ran to the floor and came back with his leash. Sherlock laughed and they left the flat for a nice walk around the block. He didn’t bother taking his official phone with him as he had now agreed with Mycroft that he could always use the new number. John had bought the lie about the secret cases so there was no point in hiding the phone anymore.

When they came back, Lestrade was standing on the pavement in front of his house. “You didn’t get my text?” the DI welcomed him.

“No, I forgot my phone.”

“You forgot your phone? I thought it was attached to your hand!”

“As a matter of fact, it’s not.” Sherlock unlocked the door and let himself and the policeman in; Lucky ran upstairs immediately.

“Okay, what can I do for you?” the detective asked when Lestrade had taken a seat in the client’s chair.

“I need your help of course.”

“Of course. What is it this time? Another accident disguised as a murder?”

“I don’t think so this time. A man got stabbed in the chest and…” He broke off when Sherlock grinned. “No, really this time. The knife was still in his heart.”

“Oh, good. Not even the police can mistake that for something else.” He was about to mention that he had read about the case when Lestrade went on talking after shooting him an annoyed glance.

“This man, Marcus Reed, was very unpopular with everybody I talked to; no matter if colleagues or neighbours, nobody seemed to get along with him.”

“So you have plenty of suspects?” Sherlock interrupted him.

“No, actually I think that I know who killed him. And this time it  _ was _ murder and the guy I think of  _ is _ the murderer!” he added with narrowed eyes.

Sherlock grinned. “I didn’t say a word.”

“No, but you were thinking it!”

“Maybe. So what’s the problem? You have the weapon, you have a suspect, and I suppose one with a strong motive, so what do you need me for?”

“I can’t prove it,” Lestrade admitted in a resigned tone. “There are no fingerprints on the weapon, not a sense of DNA except for the victim’s, and it’s a simple kitchen knife that could have been bought anywhere, and it’s old. Old but it had been disinfected before using it to kill Reed.”

“So it was a planned crime.”

“Oh yes. With a strong motive.” Lestrade looked over to Lucky who was chewing on his ball. “Reed had tried to kill one of the dogs of my suspect the day before, running him over with his motorcycle.”

Sherlock grimaced and looked at his dog as well. “Nice guy. I’d say he got what he deserved.”

Lestrade raised his eyebrows. “Well, I’m sure that Renner saw it the same way.”

Sherlock tensed. “Renner?”

“Yes, Oscar Renner. He had visited his girlfriend who lives in the same house as Reed, and apparently they always fought over the dogs. He had one first and then got a second one, and they are huge, but harmless. Why Reed had tried to kill one of them is not clear.”

Sherlock’s head was spinning. He had seen Oscar with both dogs three days ago. The IT consultant had been in a good mood as usual, and Billy and Bobby had been their friendly selves. He remembered how Oscar had cuddled with both of them, and he had given Lucky a dog biscuit and had tickled his belly.

“The dog is not dead but severely injured, one leg is smashed and he might lose it,” the DI continued. “This man has a pretty good reason to kill Reed but nobody saw the crime, there’s no evidence that links Renner with the deed so he’s a free man. But I just know it was him. He looked at me when I came to interrogate him, and I saw it in his eyes, just for a moment, but I’m sure that he is the killer. He said that at the time of the crime he’d been near to his own house, taking the other dog for a walk in the park, but he couldn’t name anyone who could testify for him. It was in the evening but not dark, if he’d been in the park somebody would have seen him.”

Sherlock knew that he had to make a decision. Quickly. “We saw him,” he said and immediately bit his lip.  _ Shit _ … Why did he say  _ we _ ?

Lestrade sat up straight and stared at him. “Wait a minute, you know this guy? But this park is not around the block, why should you be there? He lives in Lodge Road!”

Sherlock’s brain cells were working at full blast now. “It’s around the corner of Mycroft’s house. You know already that we are sharing the dog, he brought him as a gift for me but he likes him as much as I do.”

Lestrade nodded. He had been at the housewarming party at Baker Street and knew that they had agreed on that.

“So I bring the dog over in the evening when Mycroft comes back from work and we go to this park quite often; I’m working on a rather complicated case for the government. We met Oscar and Billy there weeks ago; and then we spoke to him again when he had gotten Bobby.”

“Yes, these are the names of his dogs. Billy is the one that got injured.”

_ Fucking bastard _ … “So on Saturday we also walked through the park; Mycroft had not been at work but Lucky needs an evening round. Right after going in, I saw Oscar from a pretty long distance. But I’m sure that it was him; it’s quite easy to identify him, given his extreme height and his silly, big glasses, let alone the huge dog.”

Lestrade shook his head. “Unbelievable. But wait a minute, when was that? It could have been before or even after the crime?”

“It was a quarter to seven. Where does his girlfriend live?”                              

Lestrade sighed deeply. “She lives almost forty-five minutes away by car. Damn… I was so sure…”

“Well, you also were last time…” Sherlock said with a shrug.

“Do you think Mycroft saw him, too? Perhaps he recognised somebody else?”

Sherlock winced internally but he had seen that coming. “You can ask him of course. He’s in a meeting though now I think, and he can’t take his phone with him so…”

“I’ll just drive by and see if I get hold of him. It’s not that I don’t trust you, Sherlock, but you said the man was pretty far away from you so you could be wrong.”

_ Well, I had to say that, otherwise Oscar would have seen me, too.  _ “I’m completely sure that it was him, Greg. And I don’t know if Mycroft paid any attention to him at all, neither I nor he mentioned him as we were talking about that hacker case. But go on, ask him.”

“I will. Man, I came here for your help and instead you just blew my case.”

“I am sorry, but in the end you’re looking for the truth, not for the most convenient suspect, aren’t you?”

“Of course. I have no interest in locking up an innocent man. You don’t see any sense in looking at the crime scene to find the real killer?”

“I could of course. But let’s face it, I’m not a magician. If he or perhaps she didn’t leave any trace that your forensics could work with and nobody saw or heard anything, I don’t see how I should be able to find the killer. Of course, if you have another suspect, I will look into it with pleasure.”  _ But it’s sort of improbable that you will find one _ …

“Yes, I understand of course. It was a long shot. Bye for now, Sherlock, I’ll let you know when I have found the right guy.”

“Do that, Greg. Seems you have many other possibilities as he was so unpopular. Have a good day and I wish you good luck with the case.” Of course he actually didn’t.

He waited until he heard the front door open and shut, and then he fumbled out his phone. He just hoped Mycroft would not really be in a meeting without his phone, and even though he would have by far preferred texting him, he knew that if Mycroft didn’t answer, he wouldn’t know if he had read the text at all, so he didn’t have a choice but to call him. He had no idea how his partner would react to that… To his relief Mycroft immediately answered his call.

“Hi darling, how’s it going? I’m right in between two meetings so you are lucky to have caught me but…”

“Listen Mycie, you'll have to do me a favour.”

“Anything you want, Sherlock, you know that!”

_Well, we shall see that_ … “I need you to listen to me, please don’t interrupt me and don’t shout at me.”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” He sounded very concerned all at once, and Sherlock couldn’t blame him.

He took a deep breath. “Lestrade was here a minute ago. Do you remember the murder I told you about this morning?”

“Yes, of course. So he asked you for help? That’s good, so…”

“Listen, please. This man who was stabbed had tried to kill a dog without any reason, and Lestrade thinks that the owner of this dog has murdered him.”

“Well, I’d say he had it coming…”

“Yes, I think so, too. Mycie, this owner is Oscar Renner, you remember him?”

“Of course I do. You want to tell me that this skinny geek has stabbed somebody?”

“Lestrade was sure that he did it. And then I told him that you and I had seen him at exactly the time when the crime happened, far away from the murder scene.”

“You did WHAT?! Are you MAD?!”

Sherlock cringed and held the phone further away from his ear for a moment. “You promised to not shout at me.” His voice was sounding small in his own ears.

“No, actually I didn’t! Sherlock, how can you…”

“Please, Mycie, Lestrade is on his way to you. I told him that we were in the park to take Lucky for a walk; it was Saturday evening, a quarter to seven. I said that when we entered the park coming from your house, I saw Oscar from quite a distance to explain why he didn’t see us and named us as witnesses, and I said that he had Bobby with him. All you have to do is tell Lestrade that we were in the park at this time, you can tell him you didn’t notice Oscar, but of course it would be even better if you told him you saw and recognised him, too.”

There was silence except for Mycroft’s hard breathing, and Sherlock felt cold sweat appear on his forehead. “Mycie, I know what I’m asking you for, I know how honourable you are and that you would never think of lying to the police, let alone giving a wrong testimony in a murder case. But Billy was almost killed, you know how nice Oscar’s dogs are and how much he loves them. If somebody killed Lucky, neither of us would let them get away with it. Remember how you saved him from this arsehole. Please, Mycie, I know how big this favour is, but I saw no other way. Please…”

The silence went on for almost half a minute, then Sherlock heard a deep sigh. “Alright, I will do it. For you, and yes, for Oscar as I can see why he did it. But Sherlock, do you have any idea what will happen if they find a proof for his guilt? And realise that we both lied?”

Sherlock closed his eyes. “Yes. But they don’t have anything, no DNA, no fingerprints, no witness. And if you tell Lestrade that you are sure to have seen Oscar, they will look for somebody else.”

“But they won’t find anyone, because he did it.”

“We don’t know that yet. Perhaps he is really innocent.”

“Somebody’s knocking at the door. It will be Lestrade. Gotta go.”

“Call me when he’s out. Please?”

“I will. Come in!”

The line went off. Sherlock leaned back into his chair and closed his eyes. He opened them a second later when something jumped onto his lap. He embraced the dog and kissed him on the warm head. “Oh Lucky, what have I done? What if he hates me now?” Lucky licked his chin and that made him smile. “You think he will rather kiss me? Oh, I hope that you’re right…”

He had to wait ten minutes until his phone buzzed. Ten minutes of being more nervous than he’d been in his entire life, ten minutes of wanting to smash his head on the table for what he had done, ten minutes that seemed to last a lifetime. He almost dropped the phone when he pressed the button to answer the call. “Mycie?”

“He’s gone and I think that he believed me. Us. I said that I was sure that it was Oscar and that I recognised the dog as well. So far, so good. Or bad, I don’t know. Sherlock, talk to Oscar and let him know what you did so he’s not surprised when Lestrade talks to him again. And please do it only when you’re sure that nobody sees you with him! Don’t call him!”

“I will go to him right away. Thank you, Mycie, I will never forget that. And I swear I will never ask you for anything again. Do you… do you still love me?”

“Oh Sherlock, of course I do. Nothing will ever change that. And you can still ask me for anything, but I would appreciate if you didn’t ask me for lying to the police again. I hope that’s the end of the story.”

“It will be, Mycie. I love you so much. And I will make up for it tonight.”

“Let’s hope that you won’t be doing it in a prison cell, Sherlock. I'll try to come home early today. They sort of gave up looking for the traitor that probably doesn’t even exist, and besides the meeting I have to go to now, it’s rather quiet.”

“That’s good. I’ll go see Oscar now and then I'll go home and wait for you. Is there anything special you would like to eat?”

“You, Sherlock. See you later then, bye.”

Then he was off and Sherlock wondered if he had talked about sucking him off or roasting him over open fire… Given what he had just asked him to do, it was probably the latter…

*****

Half an hour later, he arrived at the address that Lestrade had mentioned. Of course he had not told him the number of the house, but it was a short street, and after a quick look at the first houses, he chose the one with the picture of a huge dog at the front door. There was no car waiting outside that appeared to be from the police so Sherlock was quite sure that it was not under surveillance. It was a beautiful, big house in an expensive area only two streets away from Mycroft’s house. Sherlock looked around again before he used the doorbell. He was sure that nobody had followed him and he didn’t see any reason why anybody should do that. He heard loud barking and then the door was opened up. Lucky immediately stuck his head through the door crack and frenetically wagged his tail.

“Yes? Oh, it’s you!”

“Hi Oscar. Can I come in?”

“Sure.” The young man - dressed in a casual, red t-shirt and black jog pants - stepped back, and Sherlock entered the house. The corridor was looking as expensive as the outside; everything was black and white and modern, a crass opposite of Mycroft’s house. Bobby was jumping around, happy to see Lucky and Sherlock. Oscar didn’t look happy at all, his eyes were red and the dark shadows under them were a strong sign for very little sleep.

“Let’s go to the living room,” Oscar suggested, and Sherlock followed him and sat down on a rather uncomfortable modern chair. The only charming items in the huge room were the two dog baskets next to the couch and the posters on the wall, showing pictures of the rainforest and wild animals; he even spotted a movie poster.

“So, what can I do for you? You need assistance with your computer? I don’t usually offer such services, but I’d do it for you with pleasure.”

“Where is Billy?” Sherlock asked instead of answering.

Oscar’s eyes went dark. “He’s in a clinic.”

“He was injured?”

“Yes, somebody… somebody tried to run him over with a bloody motorcycle; he was hit at the side and one leg and they don’t know if they can save him. The operation was on Friday and…” He started sobbing and took his glasses off to rub his eyes. “I’m sorry. It was so horrible. It still is.”

“At least you gave the guy what he deserved,” Sherlock said calmly.

“What?” Oscar’s eyes were huge without the glasses. “How do you… What do you mean?”

Sherlock sighed. “If you lie that badly, it’s no wonder that Scotland Yard is convinced of your guilt. You’ll need to work on your expressions, and you actually admitted that you did it as I suppose you wanted to say  _ how do you know _ ?”

Oscar swallowed hard. “I… Oh God… What do you want?” He sounded very resigned.

“I want you to listen to me. I told the DI who is responsible for your case that my brother and I saw you in the park when Reed was killed, and Mycroft confirmed it.”

“What? Why did you do that?”

Sherlock shrugged. “I didn’t have much time to think it over. Perhaps I just thought of my dog and how I would feel if somebody did that to him.” He looked over to Lucky, who had cuddled up between the forepaws of the huge Bobby, who was licking his head.  _ And I would kill him, too. Slowly and painfully. And don’t get me started with Mycie. _

“I don’t know what to say, God… Thank you, Sherlock. I may still call you Sherlock, or do you mind?”

“After giving you a false alibi for a cold-blooded killing, I think there’s no point in being formal. But there is a lot in the line for my brother and me so you’ll need to make a more believable impression if the police comes back to talk to you.”

“I know! And now that I know what you did for me, I feel much more relaxed about seeing them. I’m so much smarter in the computer world than I am in the real world but I will work on that. And I really don’t think they have anything that proves that I killed this son of a bitch.”

Sherlock grinned. “It looks like, yes, you didn’t leave DNA or fingerprints.”

“I’m pretty familiar with true crime stories. I was wearing a mask so I wouldn’t lose any hair and of course gloves; I got rid of both in the Thames when nobody was around. I came through the back door where there are no neighbours who could have seen me, and I waited until he had entered the house, stabbed him once in the heart while turning so the blood didn’t get on me. I changed my clothes, too, just to be sure, and sank them as well. I didn’t leave any trace and my girlfriend has no idea that I did it. The only thing I couldn’t do anything about was the motive, and I realised too late that he was on the phone. But he didn’t see me coming and had not chance to say anything to the one he’d been talking to. And well, he wouldn’t have recognised me anyway.”

Sherlock had deduced all of this himself but had let him speak. “I guess the phone call rather saved you because it nailed down the time of his death very precisely, and they gave that away in the news so I could present Lestrade the time when I  _ saw _ you.”

“I owe you so much, Sherlock, and your brother as well. I know I can never make up for that, but if there’s anything, anything at all I could do for any of you, let me know, and I will do it, no matter what.”

“Well, I guess you rather work for companies and my website is doing fine, so…”

Oscar smiled. “I was talking about more delicate matters.”

Sherlock tensed.  _ No, he can’t know about it… _ “Delicate?” He hoped that his voice didn’t tremble.

“Let’s say I’m someone who finds rather creative and very discreet solutions to difficult problems. I know I look like the typical nerd and I brought myself into trouble by listening to my feelings instead of my brain, but usually I’m a little smarter.”

Sherlock looked at his wrist where the Rolex was still shining in all its glory, and figured that this house was worth a few million pounds. “It looks like,” he said slowly, still not sure if Oscar had discovered the nature of his and Mycroft’s relationship. He remembered him wondering about them being in the park together. And then he looked at the movie poster again and it hit him. “You are Robin Good!” he said, and Oscar turned white.

“You can’t know that! Oh my God, how…”

“An adult, straight man with a poster of Kevin Costner as Robin Hood on the wall? Who offers  _ creative solutions to difficult problems _ ? A computer nerd who obviously got very rich by that creativity? It wasn’t that hard to figure it out.”

“Oh Lord… Will you tell anyone?”

“Yes, of course. I just got you off a murder charge by lying for you, and now I’ll tell the police that you are the criminal mastermind they are looking for.”

“So you won’t?”

Sherlock sighed. “Of course not.” And then he thought of Mycroft. He had promised to not keep any secrets from him anymore. “I might have to tell my brother. He… damn… In a way he is in charge of discovering your identity and throw you into jail.”

“What? Oh dear God…”

“Tell me, what exactly are you doing? Taking a lot of money from the rich and giving it to the poor? Looks you’ve become rich by that as well…”

“What I took from the capitalistic companies was going to charity organisations pound for pound. But I do other things as well for wealthy people, and they do reward me.”

Sherlock thought that this was sounding rather hypocritical but he refrained from telling him. “And now you are torturing the Royal Family with false emails and funny desktop pictures?”

Oscar grinned sheepishly. “That was just a little joke.”

“I thought it was indeed rather funny, but my brother is having a hard time at work because of that. What do you say to that: you’ll keep away from the Queen and her entourage from now on, and you also don’t steal any money from the rich for some time, preferably forever. What you do for private persons or companies is up to you.”

“Agreed. I got a little tired of doing good deeds anyway. It’s tough if nobody knows about it. Except you of course. Will you tell your brother?”

Sherlock sighed. “I don’t know. I hate lying to him.”

“Not telling him is not lying.”

“Yeah, I’m familiar with this argument… And I forgot: change the poster to one of Snow White or something. And don’t kill any more people!”

“I promise!”

Sherlock got up and so did Oscar. Lucky seemed to be a little reluctant to leave Bobby but he followed the men to the door.

“Seriously, Sherlock: if you need anything you think I can handle, just tell me and I will do it.”

“I will. And I really hope that Billy will recover.”

“Yeah, Bobby and I are missing him so much; I hope that he can come home soon. Please say  _ thank you _ to your brother. I can never tell you how much I appreciate what you two did for me. These dogs are like my kids, and I couldn’t let him get away with it. You know, if animals were not just  _ things _ in the eyes of the law, Reed would still be alive because he would have been locked away in a prison cell for what he’d done!”

“Yes, I know what you mean.”  _ And how well I know that… The law just sucks.  _ “Bye, Oscar, bye Bobby.” And he went over to Mycroft’s house with his dog, hoping their relationship would not have suffered by what he had done today.

*****

Mycroft smiled when Lucky jumped around him, as usual totally excited to see him. He got down for a moment to touch him. “You’re so happy that I’m home, you’re such a good boy.” He heard a quiet noise and looked up from the dog to see Sherlock standing three metres away from him, his expression a mixture of bad conscience, fear and most of all, love.

He straightened up again and opened his arms widely, and a second later he was almost smashed back against the door when Sherlock embraced him. He chuckled and held him tight. “Oh, Sherlock, you know that I can’t be angry at you, no matter what crazy things you’ve done.”

Sherlock kissed him enthusiastically. “I love you, Mycie, and I was so afraid to have lost you. Come, dinner’s ready. I know it’s still early but I couldn’t eat anything the entire day.”

“Then it’s good that I was able to leave work so soon. And I’m hungry, too.” He had not eaten much either. He had been feeling kind of shaken the whole day as well.

While they were eating, they avoided talking about what had happened that day. After dinner, they snuggled up on the couch; Sherlock was leaning his head against his shoulder, and Lucky had found a comfortable place on his lap. Mycroft was sipping at a whiskey, feeling himself finally relax. “So, you talked to Oscar,” he started the overdue conversation. Sherlock had texted him after his visit at the consultant of course but he had not been in the mood for a longer session.

“Yes, it was him and he doesn’t regret it. But to be fair - he did a pretty good job by not leaving any traces. All Lestrade has is his motive, and as the victim was so disliked all around, he’s certainly not the only person who has one. I’m actually sure that he’s off the hook.”

“I’m so amazed that you chose to lie for him, Sherlock. I was totally sure that you don’t care about anyone but me now.”

“Oh, Mycie, don’t tell me that you are jealous?!”

“Of course not!” Was he really not? “I’m just surprised that you did something like that for a guy you hardly know.”  _ While you very certainly don’t give a damn for the people who did so much for you over the last couple of years… _

“It was a very quick decision - it had to be, I had no time to think it through. But I kind of like Oscar, he always seemed like a decent guy, being so nice with his dogs. And I think what crashed through my brain in that moment was that if someone harmed the ones I love, I would kill them, too, and perhaps I thought what could happen to his dogs if he was sent to jail.”

“The ones you love?” He needed to hear it…

“You and Lucky of course!”

“Oh, honey, come here, kiss me.”

Sherlock lifted his head and they got lost in a tender, promising kiss for minutes. Mycroft had closed his eyes and was totally giving into the sensation of Sherlock’s full lips, his tongue and the strong, warm hand that was holding his head.

When they finally broke off the kiss, he looked into Sherlock’s eyes and the love and relief in them overwhelmed him. “Do you want to go to bed now?” he asked him.

“I… have to tell you something first. He wanted me to keep it from you, but that’s not an option. I just hope that you…” He broke off and Mycroft closed his eyes for a moment.

“Alright, what else? You are talking about Oscar, yes? What more can you tell me about him? Is he a serial killer? What?”

“He’s… he’s the hacker, Mycie.”

“Sorry what?” No, that was not possible! That was just too absurd!

“He’s the man they call Robin Good, and I told him I would not give his secret away. But listen, before you explode now; he promised me to keep his hands off Buckingham Palace and he won’t redistribute money anymore. I just allowed him to work for his clients; I’m sure what he does there is also not legal in every case but, well. And technically I’m not asking you again to lie to anybody because you know that it has been impossible to convict him and nobody ever will so nobody will ask you about him.”

Mycroft stared at him in disbelief; he saw fear appearing in Sherlock’s eyes again, as well as a beg for understanding and forgiveness, and then Lucky came up from his lap and started licking his throat as if to soothe him, too. He automatically began to stroke his little head, and then it just overcame him. He started to laugh and there was no stopping anymore, he laughed louder with every second, tears running down his cheeks, and he heard Sherlock gasp and then laugh as well, and he pressed his man against him with one arm and his dog with the other one, and then Sherlock’s lips found his again and the laughter was finally stopped by the urge to just love him.


	17. Chapter 17 - Three days later

When Sherlock woke up at eight o’clock, he kept lying still for a long while. And not only because Lucky was still sleeping peacefully - flat across his chest, his legs twitching from time to time - but because he just didn’t want to start the day. After managing to spend time together every day since they had gotten together, last but not least allowed by Sherlock’s idea to share the dog, he wouldn’t see Mycroft today, and he was feeling stupidly sad about it. He knew that he was being irrational, but he couldn’t help it.

Of course it was not that Mycroft didn’t _want_ to spend the evening with him. He was forced to do it. They had just eaten dinner the day before when Mycroft had received a call by Albert Scott, the disgusting assistant of the PM. He had told Mycroft that his presence would be required at a banquet with the Foreign Minister of Sweden, who was notorious for his endlessly long parties, and it would take place far outside of London in the private estate of a very wealthy friend of said minister. Mycroft had known about the party of course and had prepared Leon Tennant, one of his most promising staff members, to not only attend it but to stay there for the night to take part in a meeting about the cooperation of the respective Secret Services of the UK and the Scandinavian country in the morning. But Scott had let Mycroft know that the Swedish minister himself had required Mycroft’s presence and that he shouldn’t even bother trying to get off the hook as it was a direct order from the PM. Sherlock had listened to Mycroft’s part of the conversation and had felt extremely sorry for him to have to be polite to this pompous brat, who was happy to diss Mycroft in the name of the nasty PM, who didn’t even have the balls to tell Mycroft directly what to do.

And now he was feeling sorry for himself to have to be without his man for so long as Mycroft would be in meetings the entire day. Given that he would only come back to London during the next day, it meant that they wouldn’t have been able to see each other for approximately forty hours, as Sherlock hadn’t found an excuse to stay at Mycroft’s house the night before. It had taken him ages to finally find rest and fall asleep in his own bed. And now he was feeling completely knackered and also more than a little depressed.

He sighed deeply when he heard the doctor rumbling around in the kitchen and the living room and speaking to Rosie in this annoying baby talk that made him sound so awfully dull. The noise woke up Lucky, who stretched his little legs and then got on his feet on Sherlock’s chest and licked his face, which never failed to make him smile, no matter how he was feeling.

“Morning, Lucky. I take it that you are in a good mood? But I have bad news for you: we won’t see Daddy today. Are you as sad about it as I am?”

Lucky just wagged his tail and looked at him with these heart-melting, shiny brown eyes and Sherlock sighed again. “I know, time to get up. For whatever.” He gently pushed Lucky to the other side of the bed and swung his long legs to stand up. He cursed when he saw a big, red bulge on his right knee that immediately started to itch. “Great, really,” he mumbled and opened his drawer to get a balm for mosquito bites, and his eyes spotted the dildo lying right next to it. He had not used it so far as it had not been necessary, and he took it out and admired its resemblance to Mycroft’s cock again like he had done dozens of times before. Every wrinkle, every vein was exactly like the original. He teasingly licked over the big head and grimaced. It definitely didn’t taste as great as the real one. He was about to put it back in the drawer, thinking he might use it for the first time later on this day, when he had an idea.

“Let’s show Daddy what he’s going not going to have tonight,” he said to the dog and took his secret phone from the nightstand. He activated the camera and put the toy in his mouth, really sucked at it despite the awful taste so his cheeks would be hollow. He knew that his cheekbones were looking deliciously sharp when he did that; Mycroft had told him that often enough. He looked at the phone as seductively as he could, made a snapshot and looked at it. “What do you think? Do I look hot?” Lucky barked once and seemed to approve so Sherlock sent the picture to Mycroft’s number with the text:

_You’ll be missing out tonight! That could be your cock! Miss you already, love you, SH_

He forced himself to get up, still feeling dreary and tired, to finally get dressed and feed Lucky and take a walk with him. He put the dildo on the bed, scratched the bite again, and put some balm on it. When he had slipped into his trousers and was putting on a shirt, there was a knock at the door. He made sure that the shirt was closed before he said: “Yes?”

The door was opened and John, already fully dressed, smiled at him. “I thought I’d heard you talking. Would you like to have eggs for breakfast? I was about… Wow, Lucky, do you have a new toy? But pink for a boy?”

Sherlock turned around so fast that he got dizzy and tried to grab the dildo that was lying between the dog’s forepaws, but Lucky was faster and took it between his teeth, jumped off the bed and ran out of the room, right through John’s legs.

“Lucky! Bring it back!” Sherlock shouted and almost fell over his feet when he started to run.

John laughed. “Sherlock, what’s the matter? Why are you so upset?”

Sherlock realised that his cheeks were glowing when he pushed the doctor aside and ran through the floor into the living room, where he found Lucky. The dog looked at him innocently and wagged his tail. “Where is it? Where…” He broke off in sheer terror when he saw what had happened to the love toy. Rosie was sitting on the carpet in the middle of the room, needing both of her little hands to hold the big, soft-pink dildo. She was rattling it as if she expected it to make a noise. But the only noise was Sherlock’s gasp. And then the doctor’s voice.

“Sherlock, what is wrong with you, why… Oh, _fucking hell_!” Sherlock reckoned that he had finally seen which sort of toy it was…

He wasn’t able to say a word when John now pushed him aside and almost ripped the dildo out of his daughter’s hands, looking at it in disbelief. She immediately started to cry but stopped at once and giggled when Lucky went to her and licked her face.

“John, I’m so sorry,” Sherlock croaked. _Oh, what a beautiful morning_ …

John turned around to him slowly, apparently fighting for self-control. He cleared his throat. Then he closed the distance between them and handed the silicone bone of contention over to him. The detective took it, and a quick glance told him that the dog had not actually chewed on it and it was still as perfect as before, just a little wet, and then he hid it behind his back, knowing that this was a tad pointless.

“Sherlock, I know this is not easy for you, and I know you probably _need_ this… this _thing_. But how the fuck can you let that happen! She’s a baby for God’s sake, she should not see something like that for the next twenty years at least!” His voice had gotten louder with every word, his eyes narrowed dangerously.

“John, I didn’t want it to leave my room, it’s not used, I…”

“I don’t fucking care! You cannot let your fucking dog run around this flat and bring an innocent child a fuck toy!”

“How many more times do you want to say _fuck_! Do you think she should hear that?! Is that supposed to be her first word?” Sherlock shouted back. “And don’t you dare blame the dog, he doesn’t know what that is, he thinks it’s a chew bone!”

“And it is, isn’t it! Why don’t you use mine if you so desperately want a cock?!”

“Oh, another fine choice for a first word! And I don’t because I want a _big_ one!”

John gasped and his eyes narrowed even more. “Oh, that’s so low! Mine is working at least, and Rosie is the proof!”

“Please, every stupid arse can make babies, John!”

“Oh, really! I don’t see you doing it!”

“I’m gay, John, just in case you forgot! You told me you wanted to be my boyfriend and now you turn out to be a homophobe!”

“I’m no homophobe, I said nothing like that! How can you dare put such words in my mouth!”

“Well, it did sound like it! Or how am I supposed to make babies with a man? Or did you want to say that I was impotent?! I'll tell you what, I can very well…”

“Dear God, what is happening here?” Both men shut up and turned around simultaneously. Mrs Hudson was standing there in her nightgown. “You are screaming so loud that it could wake the dead! What’s wrong?”

“This man here,” John pointed at Sherlock, “is spoiling my daughter by handing her a fu… bloody dildo!”

“I didn’t exactly hand it to her, John! If you had not come into my bedroom, it would still be there!”

“Oh, now it’s _my_ fault! That’s so great! Perhaps you are even saying I came there to seduce you! I guess I was offering you _my_ eggs instead of scrambled eggs!”

“You’ve been trying to do that for weeks now! You know what, you are jealous!”

“Jealous? Of what, a piece of plastic? You are so pathetic, Sherlock!”

“John!” Mrs Hudson’s voice echoed from the walls. “How can you dare say that! Don’t you know how hard it is for him?”

Sherlock felt all blood disappearing from his face. “Martha, stop.”

She looked at him encouragingly and then she patted his arm. “John, you should be ashamed. Sherlock loves you and you say such mean things to him!”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. He shouldn’t have doubted her - she would never give away his secret, not even in such a state of mind. “It’s okay, Martha, he’s right, I am pathetic. Pathetic to love someone who deep inside despises me.”

John shook his head with a ferocious grin. “Oh no, you won’t blame it on me this time! You are the one who always provokes me to get close to you, and then you always back away and then run away. You don’t love me - you’re just playing a fucking game!”

Sherlock swallowed hard. John had no idea how close he was to the truth. At least he hoped he didn’t. Because if he had really figured that out, it would not be too difficult for him to get _why_ Sherlock was playing this game. In any way, this game was over now and Sherlock didn’t know what to do.

“Oh John, how can you say something that rude and mean and simply untrue?” Mrs Hudson shook her head sadly. Sherlock bit his bottom lip and decided to leave it to her. “You have no idea how often Sherlock was sitting in my kitchen and told me how much he loved you and wished he could believe that you would be able to take care of his heart and his feelings. But you’ve just proven that he was right to not trust you with that.”

“But… Oh God, I’m sorry, Sherlock. Can you forgive me, please?”

Sherlock knew that he had to buy Martha something really nice to thank her for her wisdom to always find the right words. Nevertheless he was not willing to let the doctor get away with what he’d said so easily. “I don’t know, John. You really hurt me.”

“I know, I… It was just because of Rosie. I want to protect her, you know.”

“Yes, I know. She will always be your priority. One more reason why we can never be together.”

“But you like her, don’t you! And she loves you! We could be a family!”

“I don’t think so, John. Lucky is the only family I’ll ever have, and you don’t like him.” It killed him to have to leave out the second name…

“That’s not true, Sherlock, he’s adorable! And Rosie loves him. Look at them!”

Sherlock glanced over to the middle of the room. Rosie had fallen asleep despite their heated discussion, and was lying on the carpet, cuddled up with Lucky, her head resting on his back. Sherlock smiled against his will, and he winced when John took his hand. “We could be a family, all four of us!”

“John, I…” He broke off, not knowing what to say. He was so tired and so fed up with all that and just felt so numb, as if the argument and the shock about John’s accurate accusation had cost him his last rest of energy.

“John, please don’t put so much pressure on him. And don’t you have to go to work?” Mrs Hudson interfered again to his relief.

“Shit, yes, I’m late already, I need to drop Rosie off at daycare before work. Listen Sherlock, can we talk when I come back?”

 _Not if I can avoid it_ … But then he realised that he only could if he’d spend the evening in Mycroft’s empty house. What the hell - that was still better than staying here and listening to John’s arguments for building a happy family. “I don’t know if I’ll be there. You know Mycroft wants to have Lucky.” In the end John didn’t know that Mycroft wouldn’t not come back for the night.

“Can he not survive without this dog for one day?” John snapped.

“I thought you were late!” Sherlock hissed.

“Boys, please! John, you go now so you won’t get in trouble, and Sherlock, I will make breakfast for you.”

“Yes, Ma’am,” Sherlock said and watched his flatmate pick the baby from the dog’s back. She didn’t even wake up. Sherlock and Martha watched them leave and both of them answered to the doctor’s shy goodbye rather unwillingly.

When the Watsons had left, they went to the kitchen, and Sherlock sat down at the table. He only then realised that he was still holding the dildo in his left hand and felt his cheeks blush.

“I’ll be back in a second, just let me store this again.” He stood up to bring it back to his bedroom.

“Oh, can I see it?” Martha asked with a naughty smile and reached out for the toy.

“Well, yes.” Sherlock grinned slightly embarrassed when he put the dildo into her hand. “As I told John already, it’s unused. Except for Lucky. Bad dog!” he told him but Lucky, who was waiting for his breakfast, just looked at him with these irresistible eyes and wagged his tail, and he smiled at him.

“It looks so real!” she said admiringly. She let her other hand slide over it. “It even feels almost real!”

Sherlock was feeling stupidly proud and kind of jealous at the same time. “In a way it is. Mycroft has made it, it’s the exact copy of his, you know, penis.”

“Oh my God, it’s so huge! You are a lucky man, Sherlock Holmes!” She gently tipped on the head and then handed the dildo over to Sherlock again, apparently rather reluctantly.

“I know that, believe me!” But then a thought hit his brain. “Shit, Mycroft!”

“Sherlock, what’s wrong?” Martha said, alarmed.

“Nothing, all good, be back in a minute!” Sherlock ran to his bedroom, put the dildo on the bed again, and picked up his phone that he had completely forgotten about over the awful scene with John. He smiled when he saw that he had received a text only two minutes ago.

_Oh, Sherlock, that looks so hot, I wish it was my cock and your lips were wrapped around it right now. I’m so sorry I can’t be with you tonight. But I will make up for that tomorrow. MH_

_Do you have any idea how much I love you? Don’t be sorry, I know you’d rather be with me tonight instead of going to a dinner party with a million sorts of food and drinks and attractive men. Oh, wait… :) SH_

Mycroft’s answer came in an instant and it made him smile.

_I’d rather have bread and water with you tonight, and there are no attractive men out there except one. I’m so glad that you understand that I’ll have to be there. I owe you. MH_

_I don’t like it but I do understand it. But much more important: Who is this one man??? Do I know him??? Tell me who he is and I will kick his balls! SH_

_I don’t like it either, believe me. And this man - well, he is tall and beautiful, he has the most amazing blue-green eyes and such full lips, his black hair is so thick in my hands, his body looks like a Greek statue and he just gets more seductive with every day. MH_

_Oh, I need to get to know him and then I will take him instead of you. SH_

_Oh, please, don’t leave me for yourself! MH_

_I love you, Mycie, so much. I will use the toy tonight and pretend you’re with me. Shall I send you more pictures of that? Or perhaps we could skype? We’ve never done that before! SH_

_That would be lovely! Or rather extremely stimulating! I love you, too, Sherlock, never forget that. Gotta go into a meeting now but I’ll be in touch later. Give Lucky a kiss from me. MH_

_I will, take care for now. Call me if you find time. Now go and be nice to them. And don’t give the PM a kiss from me. SH_

Sherlock carefully put the phone in his shirt pocket where it belonged, then he went back to the kitchen, his heart was so much lighter than before. Martha was still busy making breakfast for the two of them, and Sherlock took care of feeding Lucky.

“Here you go, love,” Martha said and handed him a plate with eggs and bacon and toast. He thanked her, and they both sat down to eat and to drink the tea that the doctor had prepared before, while Lucky was devouring his breakfast next to the table. Sherlock got lost in thoughts about his lover but then he slowly returned to thinking about what had happened before.

“What shall I do with John, Martha? He almost got it. He knows that I’m playing with him, he just doesn’t know why. Not yet.”

“He was just very upset,” Martha said, but Sherlock could see that she secretly agreed with him. Yes, she had been able to soothe the doctor and make him believe that Sherlock was really in love with him for now, but the doubt had been planted in his mind for God knew how long already and it wouldn’t go away, and if Sherlock continued to refuse his advances, which he simply had to do, it would raise its ugly head again.

They were silent for a moment, then Martha sighed. “You know I was not very happy how you treated John by hurting his intimate parts and abused him in a way. But I guess now I know why you couldn’t act any differently. The way he just treated you makes me think he deserved that…”

“It just didn’t really help,” Sherlock mumbled. “He still wants to try it out with me, probably he thinks that I’d be a good mother for Rosie.”

Martha giggled. “Sherlock!”

“But it’s true! It’s so silly though - he doesn’t have any gay experiences, why he should think that he could have sex with me is beyond me. I’ve never felt overly female, even though Mycie calls me his housewife or Lucky’s Mummy…” He smiled. Just thinking and talking about his man had this effect on him.

She giggled again, and then she tensed. “You know what, Sherlock, I´ve got an idea.”

“Oh, tell me, I’m open for everything that can save my arse.”

She squeezed his hand. “I don’t want to do that now. I'll have to think it through and speak with somebody. But I will know more after lunch and will let you know at once then before John comes back from his shift.”

“I really hope that whatever cunning plan you have will work out. Otherwise I’ll just go insane very soon.” He smiled when she patted his cheek, and then they went on enjoying their meal.

*****

“And don’t forget to talk to Mr Larson about the Abonezer-plan, Mr Holmes!”

“I certainly won’t,” Mycroft answered through gritted teeth. “If you excuse me now, Mr Scott, I have to prepare the next meeting.”

It took all of his self-control to not throw this stupid scoundrel out of his office; he contained himself to only glare at him, but the PM’s PA just smiled gleefully and even bowed to him before he left the room, leaving the door open as one more affront.

Anthea appeared at once. “Would you like some coffee, sir?”

“Yes, I guess I need that…” he sighed.

“But I have good news for you! The meeting with Lord Mongle has just been cancelled.”

“Oh, really? What do I owe this pleasure?”

She smiled. “He has come down with a cold I was just told. I’ll get your coffee right away.”

Mycroft leaned back in his chair. That meant he would have a spare hour over lunch.

“Here, sir.”

He took the cup from her hand. “Thank you, Anthea.”

“Perhaps you should use the unexpected free time to relax a bit if I may suggest. You look very tired and it will be an awfully long day for you.”

“But it’s not enough time to drive home and I cannot sleep there.” He gestured towards the couch in the corner. “If the PM has something urgent to torture me with, not even you can keep him from storming in here.”

“That’s true I’m afraid. Perhaps you should head over to your brother and have a couple of minutes of rest there; it’s closer than your house.”

Mycroft looked at her thoughtfully. Of course he would go there, he had decided that in the moment he had learned about the time slot. But it made him feel a little tense that she had made this suggestion. She could as well have proposed going to his Diogenes office to him which would be much closer to the office. But her eyes were meeting his with a look of friendliness and compassion and the usual respect.

“That’s a good idea. I’ll miss the little bugger tonight. The dog I mean!” He felt his cheeks blush.

Anthea smiled. “Yes, I can imagine. And he’s very lucky to have you.”

“And Sherlock.”

“Of course.” She gave him another smile and left the room. Mycroft was still watching when she had closed the door behind her. He wondered if she had really meant the dog…

Then he tried to concentrate on his work again, there was still a lot to do before the next meeting. But… He took his phone and sent a text:

_Sherlock, will you be in Baker Street around noon? I have some free time and would love to come over; I can’t stay long but I want to see you. I could bring lunch. MH_

_Of course I’ll be there! That’s great news! Can’t wait to see you! You make my day! SH_

_Fine, see you then, love you, MH_

_Love you loooooads! SH_

Mycroft smiled fondly and very gratefully about Sherlock’s ongoing enthusiasm about being with him, put the phone back in his jacket and turned his attention to his computer.

*****

It was almost exactly twelve o’clock when he entered Sherlock’s flat through the already open door. He had hardly closed it behind him when Sherlock was clinging around his neck, kissing him wildly, while Lucky was licking his shoes.

He laughed into Sherlock’s mouth and squeezed his slim waist tightly. “Did you two miss me? Are you happy to see me?” he asked while putting the bag with their lunch on the small table next to the door, and then he bent down to pick up the little dog with his now free arm. Lucky immediately started licking his throat.

“Not at all!” Sherlock purred while softly sucking at his earlobe on the other side. “Good that you told me you were coming so I could shush my other lover out of the house in time.”

“Yes, I wouldn’t want the poor guy to hide in the wardrobe again,” Mycroft said with a thoughtful nod.

“You knew that he was there? Damn!”

“Tell him he should refrain from crumpling my suits next time, otherwise I will get really mad.”

Sherlock caught his gaze, and his eyes were so full of love that Mycroft shivered. “I’m so happy that you could come here, even if it’s only for saying hello.”

“Not only for that.” Mycroft took the paper bag and kissed him on the cheek. “Let’s eat quickly so we'll have time for a very little make-out-session after that.”

“Alright.” Sherlock dragged him to the couch and Mycroft knew that Sherlock would prefer skipping lunch and just be all over him, but he had not wanted to eat while driving here but do it in peace with his lover. He had very well noticed how much Sherlock had trained the last couple of weeks; his body had always been slim and firm but now he was all hard muscles and zero body fat, and as erotic as his trained, sculpted body was to Mycroft, especially when he was moving under him while he was penetrating him, he wanted him to be healthy above all. Healthy and happy, of course.

He had felt so bad the evening before when it had become clear that for the first time, he had to break his promise to see Sherlock every day. As he had expected to head from one meeting to the other, it would have not made much sense to ask him to come over to his office just for five minutes. He knew very well that what Sherlock wanted from him above all was intimacy and tenderness, and he couldn’t give it to him in such a stressful situation. So he was more than grateful for the cold that had kept the deputy boss of the MI5 from coming to their meeting, allowing him to be here now. And he was even more grateful that Sherlock had not given him a hard time for not spending the evening together. He remembered very well the discussions they’d had in the first days of their relationship.

“Mmm, that looks good,” Sherlock stated and handed him a sandwich, then took one for himself and cuddled against his shoulder.

Mycroft kissed his temple. “It also tastes good I hope. Not as good as you but still…”

Sherlock pressed his nose against his neck and licked it. “And not nearly as good as you. I’m so happy that you’re here.”

“Me too. And thank you again for not… you know, being mad at me for breaking my promise.”

“Oh Mycie, you know I don’t want to spend a single evening without you, but it’s clear to me that you'll have to go there. I know you can’t just neglect your duties because of me.”

Mycroft somehow neither liked the sound of that nor the look in Sherlock’s eyes, but he knew that nothing he could say would Sherlock convince that he was more important to him than his work. Much more _. Oh really? Then why did you not tell this Scott arse to fuck off? Because… I just couldn’t… Yeah right!_ He could barely refrain from telling the voice in his head to shut up.

“It’s alright, Mycie, I’m a big boy. But do you think you can skype with me? I will stay in your house in the evening so I will be undisturbed, just me, Lucky and Mycie number two.”

Mycroft chuckled. “We will do it, I will just sneak away from the banquet, texting you before when it might be the best time. We will text a lot tonight anyway, if you have time. But why don’t you want to stay here? I know you like to work out but you should not overdo it.”

“It’s not because of that, even though I will have a session while I’m there. But I'll need to get away from John tonight. Let’s not waste our time with that now though, eat up so we can make out!”

“What happened with John?” Mycie asked him and swallowed down the rest of his sandwich.

“Nothing, Lucky just stole your dildo and brought it to Rosie, and he was a little pissed off about it and we had a small argument.”

Mycroft almost choked at the last bit. “What did he do?” He turned to Lucky, who looked at him innocently, but Mycroft could have sworn that he was grinning.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t damage it. Oh, Martha examined your dildo and was very impressed. Okay, come here now!”

“Martha saw it? Dear God… And what about that argument? Is everything alright with you and… uff,” he couldn’t finish his question as Sherlock started plundering his mouth.

“Oh, so sorry to disturb you but you didn’t hear me knocking!”

Mycroft winced but then realised that it was just Mrs Hudson and that they didn’t have to hide anything from her. “Hi Martha, I just dropped by and brought Sherlock some food. I have a sandwich for you as well if you like?”

“Oh, thank you dear, but I just had a little brunch with an old friend of mine. It’s good that you are here so I can tell you both what I was thinking about.”

Mycroft shot Sherlock a confused look. The detective just grimaced; apparently he knew what she was about but was not very happy about the interruption.

“Oh I see you are not in the mood, Sherlock, I can talk to you later if you want?” Mrs Hudson suggested.

“No, it’s alright, go on.”

“I will make it quick and then I’ll leave you two alone again,” she promised. She took a seat in a chair and leaned forward. “So, listen, I have an old friend, Maura Tanner; she’s originally American but came here about twenty years ago to live her with her second husband. Her daughter stayed in the States for some complicated reasons, she was ten at the time I think.”

Mycroft heard Sherlock quietly sigh and hoped he wouldn’t roll his eyes. But he wondered himself why this should be of any interest to them.

“Kelly, that’s the daughter, moved to New York City when she grew up, she became a cop in a special unit.”

“Special Ops,” Mycroft suggested.

“Yes, that’s what she was in. She was very good and decorated, but then she got injured and her partner was killed on duty, and she couldn’t go on. She struggled for a while but finally got her senses together, and she decided to change her life completely. That included moving to London where her mother lives, about two months ago. She bought a house and became a childminder. She’s so great with children, Maura says. And she is still looking for more to take care of in her beautiful house. Maura only told me that yesterday, we had not met for quite a while.”

“Rosie,” Sherlock quietly said. “But how should that help us?”

“Oh, wait a second.” She rummaged around in her handbag and took out a piece of paper. But then Mycroft saw that it was a photograph. He took it out of her hand and he and Sherlock looked at it. It showed a young woman with long, dark hair, huge blue eyes and a happy smile. Mycroft thought that she would appear to be beautiful in a straight man’s eyes.

“When she was sixteen, she was Miss New Jersey,” Martha said with a sense of pride.

“Oh yes!” Sherlock said, his eyes brightening up. “She’s pretty, she’s brave, she was a cop, she loves children, she’s perfect! John will be head over heels!”

“You are a very smart lady, Martha,” Mycroft admitted. “Let’s just hope that John will really overcome his desires for Sherlock and have eyes for a woman again. And she will have to be interested in him as well.” He hated to be the reasonable one but he doubted that love was really so calculable. And he didn’t consider John a womanizer…

“I know, but I will talk to John this evening, without Sherlock, and tell him about her, just the simple facts, who she is and that she’s looking for some more children. And I will suggest inviting her over for tomorrow or the day after for an early dinner so he can see how she gets along with Rosie. I will make sure that everything is nice and discreetly romantic and then we can only cross fingers that it works out! You shouldn’t be here then, Sherlock, I don’t think that would be a good idea.”

“Oh, I totally agree! And don’t worry, I will be at Mycie’s house then.”

“Of course you will. And if everything works out with them, you can be there as often as you want, or Mycroft can come here without fearing to be caught in a… delicate situation.”

“But we’ll need to make sure that John wants to engage her,” Mycroft said. “As I suppose he already has somebody who looks after the child when he’s working?”

“Yes, he leaves her in daycare close to the hospital, but it’s not that nice there; there are too many children and they cannot really give her much attention. And Kelly doesn’t take much money for her services. She is a wealthy woman, got some money from an aunt from her father’s side. She is also picky and doesn’t take every child, she needs to get along with them as well as with their parents.”

“Then I don’t see much chance for John,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. He can be quite charming. He is not really in love with you, Sherlock, he just desperately needs someone in his life and he just thinks that he wants you because you are the only one he trusts.”

“Thanks very much!”

“No, you know, you are very special and handsome but more than that, you are a link to Mary because you got along with her so well, and you were in Rosie’s life from the beginning.”

“So why do you think he should fall in love with that woman?”

“Because she is perfect and lovely. I met her once when she was here to visit her mother. She will just blow him away.”

“How tall is she?” Mycroft wanted to know. The doctor was rather short, and while he apparently didn’t have a problem with Sherlock being so much taller than him, that might bother him when it came to a woman.

“Oh, she’s around his size, not taller at least. I cannot promise you anything but I will try my very best to make them get together. And not only for you but also for John and Kelly, I just know that they would make a wonderful couple, just like you two. I will…”

A loud noise from the kitchen, followed by a happy yapping, made them all cringe. Sherlock sighed and was about to get up, but Martha said that she would take a look and make tea while she was there and then leave them alone.

As soon as she had turned her back, Sherlock was all over Mycroft again, but they had barely started kissing when Mycroft’s phone chirped. Sherlock pulled back with a sad look.

“I’m sorry, honey, it will be the office.”

“It’s alright, you should better go before England falls,” Sherlock said in a toneless voice.

“Sherlock, I…”

“I’m sorry, I know you don’t want to go but you have to.” The detective shrugged. “It was nice of you to come here between your appointments.” He smiled but it looked rather forced.

Mycroft felt like shit. He gently touched Sherlock’s face. “I’ll text you later, I promise, and tonight we will skype and you can show me what you are doing with my second cock. And tomorrow I’ll be back and we will make love for hours.”

Mycroft got up and drew Sherlock with him. Sherlock just silently embraced him and they kissed while Mycroft let his hands slide over Sherlock’s back, and then Sherlock’s lips started to move down on his throat, and Mycroft moaned and bent his head back and closed his eyes when he sucked at a very sensitive spot. His cock was twitching in pleasure by the feeling of Sherlock’s hard dick being pressed against his thigh and the wetness and hotness of Sherlock’s mouth on his skin.

_“Holy shit!”_

Mycroft had always been proud of his brain, of his ability to deduce people and situations in an extremely short time and react to everything within less than a second, but now he just froze. His eyelids seemed to weigh tons when he opened his eyes and saw John Watson standing behind Sherlock, staring at them with huge eyes. Sherlock was not moving either; his head had sacked against his throat, and his body was almost vibrating in Mycroft’s arms. The only positive aspect was that Mycroft’s erection had vanished at once, and Mycroft could feel on his thigh that Sherlock’s had done, too.

“Oh John, you are back already? Is everything alright with you?” Martha asked when she came from the kitchen. “Lucky has just overthrown the bin, nothing to worry about. Oh Sherlock, please stop crying now. John did apologise to you!”

And Sherlock sobbed at Mycroft’s throat and to Mycroft’s total surprise his eyes were wet and his nose was slightly running when he lifted his head and looked up to him and winked. “I’m sorry, I just feel so…” He sobbed again, quickly pressing his face against Mycroft's collar, and the politician finally got his senses together.

“I think it’s indeed time to calm down now, don’t you think?”

Sherlock ripped his arms from his neck and stepped back. “Oh, thank you, brother, I really appreciate your sympathy!” He wiped over his eyes and his nose with his sleeve.

“I’ve let you cry and sob on my suit for minutes, what else do you expect? Come, let me get you a tissue.”

“Oh, perhaps you should just leave, I’m sure that the Queen is missing you already!”

“I will! I’m rather glad that I won’t have to see you tonight, I’ll miss the dog though.” He saw Sherlock swallow and realised that he had said something wrong.

“But you told me you didn’t have time for talking to me today because you are going over to him to bring him the dog!” John said to Sherlock with narrowed eyes, and Mycroft cursed internally. Sherlock had not mentioned that but then, when should he have done it.

“I just said that because I didn’t want to talk about it anymore, John,” Sherlock hissed and turned to the doctor. “Just forget that I ever said that I loved you. I’ll always do but there is no chance for us, you will find someone else very soon, and I don’t want to be just dropped then.”

“How can you say that, why should I drop you?!” the doctor shouted and then moaned and put a hand on his stomach.

“John, dear, are you alright?” Martha asked with apparently genuine concern.

“No, I was feeling sick so I left work early. This situation here is so hard for me, believe it or not, Sherlock. It’s as hard for me as it is for you.”

“Lie down in your room, love, and I’ll bring you tea, it’s almost ready. You need more rest! You work, you solve cases with Sherlock, and you take care of Rosie - it’s no wonder that this is all too much to bear.”

The doctor nodded. “Yes, that’s part of it, Martha. That’s a good idea. I’m sorry, Sherlock, for everything. It’s a dead end. We can’t be together because you can’t trust me, and I think we should to give it a try, and so we just drive each other mad.”

“He will spend the night in my house, John, so you can keep a little distance,” Mycroft said, taking the opportunity. “Perhaps it’s better if he stays over the next couple of nights as well. And next week he will accompany me to a conference in Edinburgh anyway for the case of… Well, I cannot say it.” He saw Sherlock’s eyes brighten up and had to suppress a smile. Then he froze when he remembered how John had looked at them, and it was no surprise to him when the doctor chuckled.

“I guess you've already driven me mad, Sherlock, because when I came in and saw you standing together like that, I thought for a moment…” He broke off and shook his head.

“What did you think?” Sherlock asked him with raised eyebrows and a slightly threatening undertone in his voice.

“Well, you looked as if… You know… As if you were kissing him.” The doctor blushed and grinned sheepishly.

“Are you totally out of your mind now? Me and _Mycroft_ ?! Oh, John, perhaps you should see a doctor yourself if you seriously think that I would, what, make out with my own _brother_?!”

His grimace of disgust should have won him a BAFTA award, and Mycroft was so proud of the convincing contempt in his voice; he knew how hard it had to be for Sherlock to say something like that. On the other hand, it hurt him to hear these words and see this expression on his face. But he knew that he had to be convincing now, too. “That’s indeed disconcerting, John,” he said in his best Iceman-voice. “I’d prefer if you kept your more than dirty fantasy to yourself in future. I need to leave now, so have a good day.”

He bent down to greet Lucky goodbye, and then he went to the door with rather stiff steps and turned around when he opened it up to catch Sherlock’s gaze. He winked and saw the twitching of Sherlock’s mouth, then he left the flat.

When he had entered the car that had been waiting for him, he leaned his head back and sighed, feeling exhausted in every way, sad and hopeless. He had come there to spend some time with Sherlock to make up for both of them for not being able to be together with him later, and instead he had to live through a conspiracy to find a wife for John Watson and then getting caught by the doctor, saved by Mrs Hudson’s fast reaction and Sherlock’s ability to cry on cue in the last second.

He was feeling cold inside when he imagined how much more delicate the situation could have been, and would have been if Martha had not been there. They would have been on the couch together, certainly not fully dressed anymore when the text had come in, and they would have still been at least partly nude when the doctor had entered the flat. But that wouldn’t have been necessary, he figured - it would have been completely enough if Sherlock had still been kissing him on the mouth instead of the throat.

He knew that they might have convinced the doctor for now that there had been nothing sexual about their embrace, but one more dubious situation and everything would blow up. He could only hope that this woman that Martha had chosen for the doctor would really fall in love with John and John with her, so he wouldn’t be interested in Sherlock as a man anymore.

He wished so much that he could have kissed his man goodbye at least; he knew that they would be missing each other very much on this evening. But then he thought how John’s complaints had opened the door for Sherlock coming back to stay in his house during the nights, and how casual he had been able to inform him about Sherlock coming with him to the conference in Edinburgh, and he thought that this had been a pretty nice end for that dangerous, unnerving situation.

The car stopped before the office, and he got out. He needed to get over with the day and that bloody banquet, and what would keep him up was the possibility of having at least video-sex with Sherlock later and then show him how much he had missed him the next day.

*****

Sherlock bent forward and took the video call. He felt a big smile appear on his face when Mycroft became visible in the frame. “Hi, honey, how’s it going?” he asked him. He noticed the shadows under his eyes and the pale colour of his face. “You look totally exhausted.”

“I am, Sherlock, and this party will go on until the morning, and at ten there will be the meeting. I’ll have to excuse myself as early as possible, and after the meeting I’ll drive back to London, drop by the office shortly and then I’ll only belong to you.”

“That sounds great. But how did you get away now?”

“Ah, there are so many people there, they won’t miss me for a while. But I won’t have too much time. I wouldn’t want anyone to come looking for me. Of course I locked the door, don’t worry. But still we wouldn’t want to be disturbed.”

“Yeah, once a day is really enough.” Mycroft had called him two hours after the almost-disaster with John and they had spoken about it. Sherlock knew that it had been risky of Mycroft to suggest in this situation that Sherlock should stay at his house for the next couple of nights and also mention their time away together in Edinburgh, but this had been a perfect chance to get away from John, plus it had sounded as if they had nothing to hide. Besides the fact that he just loved to be with Mycroft during the nights, it would also save him from more discussions with the doctor and give John the opportunity to concentrate on Kelly Tanner. This woman that neither of them had ever met was his only hope to get rid of John’s stubborn and stupid advances.

But now he really didn’t want to think about his flatmate anymore. “So, shall I put on a little show for you?”

“I’d really appreciate that.”

Sherlock was already naked and now he took the toy and a bottle with lubrication from the nightstand. “Tell me what you want me to do, Mycie,” he said and deliberately stroked over the soft, flexible head of the dildo. The laptop was standing about a metre away from him so Mycroft was able to see his entire body on the bed. Mycroft was still fully dressed in a light-grey suit. But Sherlock could see a towel between his spread legs, so apparently Mycroft was quite sure that he would join in eventually.

“Turn around for me, and just rub it between your cheeks,” Mycroft suggested.

Sherlock smiled, put some lube on the dildo and got on all fours, wagging his arse in front of the laptop, and he could hear Mycroft gasp. He let the toy slide up and down in his arse crack and then let the head rub at his puckered hole.

He turned his head so he could see his lover’s face on the screen. “I wish you were here to make my hole wet with your tongue. You’d be on your knees behind me, and you would bite in my cheeks and open my hole with your hands and lick me inside.” He realised that talking dirty was very agreeable with him.

“Oh Sherlock, this is so hot, go on talking.”

Sherlock grinned when he watched Mycroft open up his trousers and take his already swollen dick out. He let the toy penetrate his arse; before the video call he had prepared himself so they wouldn’t lose any time.

“This is your dick pushing inside me, and it feels great; it’s already leaking with pre-cum, and your hands are holding my hips, and you are hammering your cock into my hole, you are riding me hard, your big balls are clashing against my perineum with every thrust.” He realised that he was imagining the situation that he was describing, and it made him as hot as the dildo in his arse did. He could really feel Mycroft’s warm, big hands on his hips, could feel his hips hitting his bottom. His cock was hard and throbbing now, and so was Mycroft’s. His lover was masturbating heftily and Sherlock could see the sweat on his forehead even from this distance. He wondered how he would be able to go back to the party after that, and he was feeling a little guilty.

“Don’t think about that, Sherlock, just go on, please.”

“Your deduction skills work rather well for the state of your mind, Mycie. Alright, you are deep inside of me, your knob is rubbing over my prostate with every stroke.” He hissed when he slightly changed the angle of penetration and the toy did exactly that.

He finally turned around so he didn’t have to bend his neck anymore. He lay down in the cushions, his legs spread widely, and he heftily penetrated his hole while finally masturbating his dick.

“Oh God, Sherlock, you look so awesome,” Mycroft whispered; he was still fully dressed, the only naked parts were his big cock and his deliciously hairy balls, and Sherlock could see him pulling at the heavy sack with the left hand while he was beating off with the right one, and Sherlock wished so much they were together now so he could suck him off. He knew that both of them were close to climax and decided to push Mycroft over the edge first. “You take out your cock now, and you push me on the mattress, and you shove your cock inside my mouth, and I taste myself, and I’m pulling at your big balls and my finger is in your arsehole and…”

He stopped when Mycroft moaned loudly and shot his load over the towel before him. Sherlock got up on his knees, pulled the laptop towards him so it would show a close-up of his dick, and he grabbed his member very hard and pulled on his own balls, and then he came in big spurts right over the computer screen.

“Dear God, Sherlock, that was unbelievable,” he heard his lover say hoarsely.

He pulled out the toy and then grabbed for a tissue and tried to wipe off the cum from the screen, and he cursed when after his efforts it was still so smeary that he could hardly see Mycroft anymore. He spit on another tissue and went on cleaning, and finally the monitor became reasonably clear again. He knew that he would have to clean it up properly, but he’d do that later. “So how did you like my show?” he teased Mycroft when he had put the laptop on his thighs so his face would fill up the screen now.

“I loved it, it was so hot. I have no idea how I should go back to these people now. I will just come home.” He sounded determined to really do that, but Sherlock, who felt very happy about it, shook his head.

“No, honey, you'll go into the bathroom now and freshen up, and then you'll go back there for a while and then tell them you had to sleep, and tomorrow morning you will attend your meeting and do everything necessary in your office, and then you’ll come home.”

“Sherlock, I really want to be with you now.”

“Mycie, I know that and it makes me happy that you do, and I do want you to come, but in the end it’s only one night and it would only cause you trouble if you did it. And it’s a long way, please, be a good boy and just play their game, and tomorrow you’ll be with me and we will do what we just pretended to do.”

“Since when are you the reasonable one?” Mycroft asked but Sherlock could hear and see in his face that he had gotten his senses back.

“Somebody has to be. Surprisingly enough, this time it’s my turn. I love you, Mycie, and I do it more with every day.”

“I love you, too, Sherlock, so fucking much. Alright, I should better do what you told me to so I'll get to bed as soon as possible. Do you think you’ll be up for a little longer so I can call you on your mobile when I’m back in here?”

“That would be lovely, Mycie. And don’t bother - if I sleep, I’ll be awake in a second when you call me. Now go and be the Iceman.”

“You know what, Sherlock, I think the Iceman is getting sort of tired of being the Iceman.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “So who would he prefer to be?”

“Not sure, Sherlock, perhaps just Mycie.”

“I love Mycie.”

“And Mycie loves you.” He bent over and his face was very big on the screen, and Sherlock could see him press a kiss on the display of his computer. He hurried to do the same and grimaced when the taste hit him.

Mycroft laughed. “Oh, honey, you’re just so cute. Speaking of that, where’s our boy?”

“Oh, he’s in the living room, probably eating your couch.”

“He can do that, I can buy another one any time. Give him a kiss from me. But without your tongue!”

“I’ll try to contain myself. Love you, Mycie, talk to you later?”

“Yes, we will. Thank you for this superb entertainment.”

“The pleasure was on my side, believe me. Now go to the bathroom before somebody comes looking for you.”

Mycroft sighed. “Yes, I will. Take care for now, Sherlock. Love you.”

“Love you more.”

“Oh no, _I_ love you more.”

“You know we could play this game until the morning?”

“We could play it for the rest of our lives. And I’d still win.”

“No you wouldn’t.”

“Yes I would!”

Sherlock chuckled and saw Mycroft smile. Then his lover sighed. “Alright, we better stop here or I’ll never go back there. I’ll call you later.”

“Do that, honey, bye for now.”

“Bye, love.” Mycroft blew another kiss to the screen, then the video window was closed.

Sherlock got up from the bed and opened the door. “Lucky, you can come in now!” Seconds later a little ball of fur ran over his feet and shot on the bed. He laughed out loud and joined his dog, allowed his eyes to fall close, knowing he would be woken up soon again, and he would just love it.

*****

“So she will come by today?” Sherlock asked. “That was really fast.” He and his landlady were sitting at her kitchen table, having tea and biscuits together. On the table there was a huge bouquet of roses that Mycroft had sent her in the morning, and Sherlock saw her looking at it with a happy smile several times.

“Oh yes, I told her about John and his decency and his past as a soldier, and how lovely Rosie is and that he’s a widower who needs to find a better place for his beloved child. And I told John how great she is with children and that she wants to talk to him to find out if she could imagine taking care of Rosie. He immediately agreed to meet up with her. And I didn’t even show him the picture.”

“Yes, that would have been a little too obvious,” Sherlock agreed. “We don’t want him to know that you are playing matchmaker for him. I’m really crossing my fingers that it works.”

“I’m very hopeful it will. Will you go to Mycroft now?”

“Yes, he called me when he came back and told me that he only went to his office to glance over his reports and delegate some work and then he will be home latest around four, and I like to be there a lot earlier than him. It’s so nice to be prepared and welcome him home.” _And work out a bit more to impress him with my muscles_ …

Sherlock had spent the morning with some boring cases; the doctor had another early shift to his relief so he hadn’t seen him the entire day. For whatever reason, John had refrained from coming into his bedroom in the morning to ask him if he wanted to have eggs…

“Thanks again for all your efforts, Martha, and especially for yesterday - you really saved us.”

She smiled. “I have to admit that my heart stopped for a moment when I heard John speak and saw how you two were standing there.”

“It was insane of me to do that. Of course I couldn’t expect him to be at home so early, but it wasn’t the first time that he did that. Thank God we were not sharing a French kiss at that moment. It would have been rather difficult to sell that to John as a comfort for me.”

“Oh, I don’t know, you could have told him that, because you cannot kiss _him_ , Mycroft was so kind to fill in.”

Both of them giggled. But Sherlock knew that this situation had not been a reason to laugh at all. And he also knew that if John caught them doing something like that again, it would not be possible to fool him, then he would know it. And then what? He didn’t even want to imagine. All he knew was that he was willing to do anything to protect their relationship. Anything at all.

“Alright, I’m leaving soon. I’ll be back tomorrow morning and I hope that you'll already have good news for me.” He drank up his tea.

“I hope so, too. I can imagine though that he will be hesitant at first to begin a relationship with her since he will think of course that this is going to hurt you. I hope that he will come to me with this problem so I can convince him that he should do it anyway.”

Sherlock bit his bottom lip. They wouldn’t be in this situation now if he and Mycroft had not decided to make John believe that Sherlock loved him. It would have been a much smarter move to find him a love interest weeks ago. But none of them had thought of that.

“I should have suggested that before,” Martha said regretfully. “But then, I do not know anybody that could have fitted for being his girlfriend. Except Miss Hooper maybe but…”

Sherlock laughed. “Yes, that would have been really funny. Having Molly _and_ John around. But it wouldn’t have worked anyway as she also thinks that I’m in love with John. Damn…” He had just realised that if John got together with that Tanner-woman, Molly would perhaps try to get close to him again. But then, their last conversation had not been that pleasant, so hopefully she wouldn’t. “This is all so bloody complicated,” he growled. “It was so easy to get together with Mycie in the end, and everything around us is just so damn difficult.”

“It was easy because you are meant for each other, Sherlock. And because, well, you've never mentioned that, but I guess that you have been loving one another for a long time already.”

“I’ve been loving him since I was sixteen, and he has every bit as long. And none of us has dared talk to the other one about it, instead we've put on very opposite masks.” _The drug head and the Iceman.  Not so easy then, our relationship._

“Oh, that must have been so hard for both of you!”

“Yes, it has. I almost…” He stopped talking but saw her encouraging expression. “I almost died over it, Martha. All the drugs and the dangerous situations caused by them - it was mostly because of my love for him, and I really wished sometimes that I just wouldn’t wake up after getting high and passing out.”

“Oh, Sherlock, my poor boy!”

He took the old lady’s hand. “But that’s past, Martha, now I have what I’ve wanted for so long. And I won’t give it up anymore. For nobody and under no circumstances. So I really hope that John will get happy with this woman so he will be out of the house most of the time _._ He must stop even thinking of getting together with me, and he cannot catch Mycroft and me once more.” _Because if he does, and if he threatens us in any way_ …

“I will do my best, Sherlock,” she slowly said and looked at him and he wondered if his thoughts were showing in his eyes.

He got up. “Thank you for the tea and the cookies, Martha, and thanks for everything you are doing. You are fighting my battle, and I will always be so grateful for that.”

“You deserve to be happy, Sherlock, and so does Mycroft. I will text you if something develops this evening, otherwise we will speak tomorrow morning.” She sounded careful and worried and very earnest.

“Sounds good to me. Have a nice day.” Sherlock called for Lucky and took the bag he had prepared and then they left Baker Street.


	18. Chapter 18

“Where’s my good boy, yes, Daddy’s here now!” Mycroft got on his knees and smiled when Lucky licked his face. “You’re like your Mummy, she loves kissing, too.”

“Mummy heard that!”

Mycroft looked up to Sherlock and stood up. He pulled his man close. “And what does Mummy say to that?” he whispered and let his thumb rub over an exquisite cheekbone.

“That she loves kissing very much,” Sherlock answered in the same tone, and then their lips met tenderly, and in the moment his tongue touched Sherlock’s and two arms were slung around his neck, Mycroft felt his knees getting weak from pleasure. The passion of the kiss increased very quickly and Mycroft pressed Sherlock as tight as possible. He realised that Sherlock had really buffed up a lot since the day they had gotten together; he had been a very slim figure in his arms, but now he was a very broad, muscular man. Mycroft knew that in a fight he wouldn’t stand a chance against him, but he shook his head because of this stupid thought, of course they would never get violent against each other. He was not John Watson after all.

“What are you thinking?” Sherlock asked quietly and pulled back a little.

“That you could beat me up without getting out of breath.”

Sherlock nodded. “Of course I could. But you’ve just spoilt my surprise!”

“What surprise?” He couldn’t tell if Sherlock was joking.

“I destroyed your punch bag because I hit it too hard, and so I decided to hang you on your feet and use you for training.”

“Oh, right. That sounds… nice. Do I get tea first?”

“Alright. But please don’t throw up on my feet then when I work you over with my fists.”

“I shall try my best.”

They went to the living room hand in hand, kissing every two steps, with Lucky dancing around them.

After Mycroft’s return to London, he had called Sherlock while reading his reports, and had told him about the party and the meeting in the morning and he had informed him that he would head home really early today.

“I’m surprised that they really let you go so soon today,” Sherlock said when they sat down at the long table. Sherlock had prepared it with tea and scones.

“That looks lovely, Sherlock, thank you. And I didn’t exactly ask. I did what had to be done, and after the long hours with the Swedes, I think I deserved to call it a short day.” He bit into a scone and rolled his eyes in pleasure.

“Oh, you don’t have to convince me of that; I do know that you work much too hard! But the bloody PM and this weasel of a PA just love to torture you with burdening even more on your shoulders.”

Mycroft was touched by the passion and the concern in his words. “These are broad shoulders, Sherlock, don’t worry about me.”

“Not as broad as mine.” Sherlock sounded rather proud.

“Not by far,” Mycroft agreed. “Did you work again today?”

“Of course, every day. You like my muscles, don’t you?” He looked worried all at once. “Because if you don’t, I’ll stop immediately.”

“Oh, I love them, no doubt. You look very sexy with them. But to me you have always looked sexy,” he hurried to add. “You don’t have to transform into the Incredible Hulk to impress me.”

Sherlock laughed. “I would have never thought you’d know Hulk, Mycie! Really, something that trivial? You never fail to surprise me!” He winked at him and took a bite of a scone.

Mycroft shrugged. “I’ve always watched TV to come down, like they say, when I came home from work. Since there was nobody to talk to or to… you know, cuddle with.”

“Oh Mycie, and now you have two guys who are almost killing you with their wish to cuddle with you, even though only one of them is a talker.” He bent forward and gave him a peck on the lips.

Mycroft smiled at him and then looked down to Lucky, who was devotedly licking his blue ball. “Yes, now I’m a very lucky man.” He saw the dog look up and laughed. “I’m a Lucky Sherlock man.”

Sherlock grinned. “But I’m still curious, I mean,  _ Hulk _ ?! Really?”

Mycroft felt his cheeks blush a little. “I kind of liked the actor. Before he turned green.”

“Lou Ferrigno.”

“Yes. I don’t know, perhaps it was his hair…”

Sherlock laughed out loud. “Yes, there is a sort of resemblance here. And it certainly helped that he was not wearing too many clothes sometimes. So he was like me with much more muscles and a lot more bare skin. Well… now I do have a considerable amount of muscles and no problem to undress for you.”

“No Hulk needed anymore,” Mycroft agreed and reached out for Sherlock’s hand. He admired the view of their long fingers, entwined, their thumbs playing with each other.

“Do you want some more tea?” Sherlock asked.

“No, thank you. Why don’t we go over to the couch?”

“Go ahead! Lucky, you stay here!”

Mycroft stood up and walked across the room. Before he could sit down, Sherlock said: “Would you mind standing for a while?” He came over, carrying his filled cup.

Mycroft looked at him a little confused. “Why?”

“Because I’d like to try something.”

“But if we stay in this room, it can’t include hanging me by my feet and beating me up, right?”

“Not in the least. We’ll do that later.” Sherlock sat down right in front of him.

“Definitely something to look forward to. So what do you…” He stopped when Sherlock opened his zipper with his free hand. “Oh. Go on.”

Sherlock grinned. “Take it out for me, would you?”

“No problem.” Mycroft grabbed his cock that was already hardening; it was still amazing for him how strong Sherlock’s impact on him was. He only had to think of the combination of the words  _ Sherlock  _ and  _ cock _ and was getting hard. He watched his lover beating his dick to full hardness within seconds, and then Sherlock took a sip from his still steaming tea, put the cup on the table next to the couch and then grabbed Mycroft’s still clothed bum and pulled him against his face, taking his cock in his full mouth.

The sensation of the hot fluid around his cock combined with the pressure of his lover’s lips was overwhelming. He moaned and buried his hands in Sherlock’s thick curls. Eventually Sherlock had to swallow the tea and started sucking him hard, but meanwhile he grabbed for the cup again and interrupted his efforts to fill his mouth again with tea, and Mycroft eagerly sank his dick into the sea of hotness again. They did this three times more until the cup was empty, and then Sherlock swallowed his dick to the root and sucked him relentlessly; his incredible cheekbones were sticking out like blades, and Mycroft filled his mouth with his cum not long after.

Sherlock sucked at him until he seemed to be convinced to have caught the very last drop. “Do you think Lou Ferrigno could do that, too?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care. Nobody could do it better than you. That was a great experience. I love it how adventurous you are. And how bloody skilled with your mouth. And did I already mention your cheekbones?”

Sherlock smiled and stood up. “Everything for you, Mycie. Let’s go into the bedroom, okay?”

“I’d follow you anywhere, Sherlock.” He closed his trousers - that had amazingly enough not been soiled with tea or cum, not that Mycroft would have cared about that - so he wouldn’t lose them and stumble over them on the stairs.

“Even to the gym for, you know, replacing the punch bag?”

“Even there, Sherlock. But the bedroom does sound better.”

“I can imagine.” Sherlock offered him his hand and they went upstairs. Lucky didn’t even try to follow them.

“Do you think he knows what we will do upstairs?” Mycroft asked thoughtfully.

“Of course. But he knows you don’t want him to watch and get all horny, so he stays.”

Mycroft chuckled. “He’s a great dog.”

“The best. After you.”

They entered the bedroom and Sherlock undressed before him in his usual quick and efficient way. Mycroft couldn’t take his eyes off of him. The silky skin, the perfectly accentuated chest, the dark nipples, the sculpted stomach and of course, the amazing tattoo. And below that…

“Um, do you want to stay dressed?” Sherlock asked him with a wink.

“Oh, of course not.” He followed Sherlock’s example, and then he sat down on the bed next to him. “I missed you so much last night, honey. The people around me - they were so loud and so vulgar and totally drunk and simply horrible. And the next morning, the only ones without a hangover were the minister and I. Which was good so there was no silly talking and we went through with the meeting very quickly.”

“Why do you think did they send you there?”

Mycroft put his arm around his shoulder. “Well, they said the minister had required my presence. But the man I had chosen to go there could have handled the matter as well without a problem.”

“They are all arseholes.” Sherlock started kissing his ear.

“Yes, I guess that sums it up perfectly. But let’s not talk about that now, please.” He cupped Sherlock’s face and kissed him hungrily. “Fuck me, Sherlock, nice and slow and hard.”

Sherlock grinned. “With pleasure. And I brought an old friend to prepare you for my dick.”

“Oh please, not John!” He bit on his lip after these words had escaped from his mouth.

But Sherlock gave him a wry grin. “He didn’t fit into my bag. Not even he is so small.” He bent over and Mycroft saw the big bag that was standing next to the bed. After rummaging in it, Sherlock took the dildo out, put it on Mycroft’s thighs and grabbed for the lube on the nightstand.

“So you are letting me fuck myself?”

“In a way! But don’t worry, I will use it on you. But first I will put my tongue to good use.”

Mycroft pulled his feet up and lay down on his bed, facing away from Sherlock. He closed his eyes and just enjoyed feeling Sherlock kissing and licking his way down from his neck to his arse. When Sherlock started licking his hole, he moaned loudly. “You really like to do that, don’t you?”

“Mmm, love it. I just wish it was easier to open you up with my tongue.”

Mycroft could feel that he was indeed trying, and the sensation was heavenly. He thought of the sizzling dirty talk that Sherlock had given him the evening before. “So why would you want to do that?” He could feel that Sherlock grinned, his face still buried in his arse crack.

“Because you taste so good in there, Mycie. It’s hot and salty and delicious, and I love to have this tight muscle around my tongue; I love to lick you out.”

“You could do that professionally, you know?” Mycroft mumbled, rubbing his already growing erection on the cool blanket.

“What, lick men’s arseholes and get money for it? You know my job is killing me now, but there are certain limits.”

Mycroft chuckled into the linen. “But you are so good at that, they would pay a lot for it.”

“The only hole I’ll ever lick is yours, Mycie.” He went on doing exactly that, and Mycroft moaned.

“You know I didn’t mean that, Sherlock, I meant the dirty talking. You could have your own phone sex hotline.”

“You know I prefer to text, lover, and with everybody else than you in the line, I would just get all bitchy and piss them off rather than finish them off. So that’s not an option either. Even though…” He stopped and buried his tongue in his hole again instead.

“Even though what…” Mycroft brought out, but Sherlock didn’t reply and increased his efforts, and the feeling was so good that Mycroft stopped talking and gave into the sensation.

“Alright, now the dildo, Mycie number two.”

Mycroft hissed when the head of the toy - slick from lube - breached his muscle.

“It feels great, doesn’t it? That’s how I feel when you enter me; the head is so big and it just pops in after really stretching my arse-muscle, and the shaft is still very thick but thinner compared to the head, and it slides in so smoothly then.”

“Dear God, I’d have never thought I would get turned on by the description of my own dick.” He felt the toy filling him up, slowly and carefully led by Sherlock’s hand, and it felt great.

“I love your dick, Mycie, and this toy is so perfect, Martha…”

“Oh yes, she saw it, too, you said. And liked it, huh?”

“She loved it. You know, she loved the roses you sent her this morning, but I bet she would freak out if you made a dildo for her, too.”

“Oh Sherlock, please, stop talking about her!” He giggled into the pillow and shivered when he felt wet lips on his shoulder.

“Sorry baby, see, I’m not that great at dirty talking. But I’d say I’m very good at fucking you.”

Mycroft felt the toy sliding out of his hole, and then he gasped when he felt Sherlock’s weight on his back and his cock pressing into his well-prepared entrance. “Oh Lord, yes, I’d say that, too… Ride me hard, Sherlock!”

Sherlock obeyed at once, and the sound of his hips clashing against his arse and Sherlock’s hard strokes almost drove him crazy; he grabbed the blanket with both fists and moved his own hips in Sherlock’s rhythm.

“Get up, Mycie, please,” Sherlock whispered eventually and pulled his cock out of him.

Mycroft came up on his knees, feeling rather dizzy but he did what he was told when Sherlock turned him around so they were facing each other. They started kissing, their sweaty bodies pressed against each other, and then Sherlock pushed him so he fell on his back, and dragged him over the bed by his legs until Sherlock could stand before it and Mycroft was lying on the edge. He entered him again at once and bent down to him to kiss him again. Mycroft wrapped his arms around his neck to have him as close as possible, and he opened his eyes when he felt Sherlock’s arms around his waist and then he was pulled up.

“Sherlock, what…”

“Put your legs around me, come on.”

Mycroft understood what he was about to do. “No, you could hurt your back, you can’t do this, I’m too heavy.”

“It’s an order, Mycie, so go on, I want you to hold onto me with your legs and arms.”

Mycroft did what he was told and wrapped his legs around Sherlock’s waist as close as his arms around his neck, and then he was in the air, pinned on Sherlock’s thrusting cock.

“Dear God, you’re so fucking strong. But Sherlock…”

“What?”

“Don’t turn green!”

Sherlock started to laugh, but he could control himself well enough to continue thrusting into him with force; and eventually he put Mycroft back on the bed and grabbed his hard cock and stroked it until Mycroft released himself over his own stomach, and then Sherlock pulled his dick out of him and let his cum join Mycroft’s, just to lick it all up while Mycroft was still lying flat on his back and panting, and then Sherlock just let his body sack on his.

After several minutes, they lay down on the bed properly, Sherlock’s head resting on Mycroft’s chest.

“I don’t know what to say,” Mycroft finally broke the happy silence, “other than that your training really paid out.”

“It was great to hold you and take you like that. And my back is fine by the way.”

“I only wanted to protect you.”

“I know and I love you for that. But never try to protect me from my passion for you.”

“Certainly not. I can see that you can handle everything.”

Sherlock licked over his left nipple. “As long as you’re with me, I indeed can.”

“I’ll always be with you, Sherlock.”

They were silent for some minutes. Then Mycroft asked: “Is there anything new on the matchmaker front?”

“Oh yes, this woman will appear in Baker Street very soon today. And will hopefully overwhelm John with her tremendous charms. And I do hope that he will behave and they will live happily ever after.”

“I guess I shouldn’t drop by there so soon again. It was the second time that he caught me there with you, and this time it was really… shitty.”

“You mean you didn’t like me kissing your throat?”

“No, I did not mean that.” Mycroft squeezed Sherlock’s shoulders tightly. “This may never happen again.”

“Better not. Better for him.” His voice sounded very icy all at once.

“I’d say better for us.”

“Yeah, of course.” Sherlock lifted his head. “You know that I would die for you, Mycie.”

He cringed. “Sherlock, you’ll never have to! But well, I would die for you, too. Of course.” There was no doubt about that. Sherrinford had been a rather convincing proof of the determination of both of them, and at that time they had not even been what they were now.

“I would die for you, and I would  _ kill _ for you,” Sherlock said calmly.

Mycroft looked into his eyes. “So would I.” And he would. Both of it was so true. And then it hit him and he understood what Sherlock was referring to. “John.”

“You know, if necessary, if Martha’s evil plan to make him get together with this poor woman fails, I can probably somehow live with John’s advances, and I will live through arguing with him, even though I hate both of that. But if he finds out about us and then threatens us in any way, Rosie will have to grow up as an orphan.”

Mycroft swallowed hard. He felt cold all at once, but another part of him was scandalously happy about these merciless words. “You mean that, right? If John figures it out and gets dangerous for us, you will kill him.” He didn’t know why he asked that at all. It was very clear that Sherlock was very serious about it. Perhaps he did because it gave him such a thrill to hear it.

“I’d have no other choice. And that goes for everybody, not just him.”

“God, I love you, Sherlock.” He grabbed his face and kissed him, wishing he could rather crawl under his skin.

“I love you, Mycie. You’re my fucking life.”

They kissed each other passionately again, and Mycroft felt Sherlock’s love and determination through the kissing, and he was feeling happy and grateful and simply great.

Then Sherlock broke the kiss. “Up now,” he said earnestly.

“What?” Mycroft asked, feeling confused.

“It’s time for going to the gym.”

Mycroft opened his eyes widely. “But Sherlock, I thought…”

Sherlock looked at him with a deadpan face, then he laughed loudly. “God, I love you honey, it’s so much fun to fool you.”

“You are a mean man, Sherlock Holmes.” As if he hadn’t known that he was joking. But …

“I know. Mean and proud of it. And so fucking much in love with you.”

“So I won’t have to replace the punch bag?” It was better to be sure in the end.

“Of course not. We’ll take John instead.”

Mycroft looked into his eyes. “It will be fine, Sherlock. It really will.”

“I should hope so, Mycie. What would you like to do now?”

“Can we just be like that for a while? Just rest, perhaps taking a little nap?”

“Of course. In a second.” He got up from the bed and opened the door. “Lucky!”

And a very short time later it was Sherlock lying across his chest, Mycroft’s hand loose on his waist, and Lucky being a warm fur ball on his legs, and he dozed off to sleep, feeling as if nothing in this world could ever harm them.

*****

When Sherlock entered Baker Street after getting out of the limousine that would bring Mycroft to his office, he was feeling great because of the wonderful time they had spent together and the fact that he would be allowed to return to Mycroft’s house for the following night and all nights ahead until they’d be in Edinburgh together for three hopefully breathtaking days the week after. But on the other hand, he was feeling tense and nervous. So he knocked at the door of 221A before even entering his flat.

“Good morning, Sherlock, how are you feeling?” Martha welcomed him.

“Very good. So far.”

“Oh, come in. Hello Lucky!”

They sat down at her kitchen table once more and Martha offered him tea and butter cookies. Lucky received some dog biscuits that he ate with crunching noises.

“So she was there yesterday?” Sherlock asked when Martha provided him with tea.

“Oh yes, but John only talked to me this morning so I didn’t text you, it got rather late.”

“No worries, Martha, I was pretty busy anyway.” He winked at her, sensing that she had good news for him.

“I can imagine! So, Kelly and John got along very well, I couldn’t help but hear laughter and happy voices from above, but of course I didn’t eavesdrop.”

“Of course, you’d never do that.” Sherlock winked again.

She giggled. “And he brought Rosie to her house today.”

“Wow, that was fast.”

“He has paid the daycare until the end of the month so she told him that he only has to pay for the food, and what she will charge him regularly from next month on, is not even half of what he had to pay before.”

“I hope that’s not the only reason to let her take care of Rosie.” He felt worried all at once.

“Not at all, Sherlock, he looked and sounded as if he was in love already! He told me how smart she is, and how beautiful, and how Rosie immediately cuddled with her. He is completely overwhelmed by her charms.”

“That’s very good news. Let’s hope that she’s equally impressed with him.”

“He will stay with her and Rosie at her house after work today and see how Rosie is doing there, and I told him he should bring Kelly some chocolate, and he said he had thought of that already. I will visit Kelly’s mother tomorrow because I promised her a book she just has to read, and then I will see if Kelly has told her anything about him.”

“You are such a smart woman.”

“Oh, thank you. Well, I can say that John is in love already and apparently thinks that Kelly is fond of him as well because he already asked me how he should deal with you if they got together.”

“He’s really not wasting any time!” Sherlock was genuinely amazed and very pleased. “And what did you say?”

“Oh, of course I said he should act on his feelings, I told him that love does not come to anybody every day and that he should take the chance if Kelly likes him, too. And that I would break the news gently to you if they started a relationship. And that you would certainly be sad but that this couldn’t keep him from being happy with her, but I asked him that he, should they get together, should possibly not bring her over here but instead spend the evenings and perhaps the nights in her nice house so you won't get hurt by having to watch them together.”

“Martha, I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve you. That’s the most fantastic news I could hope for.”

“We can’t be a hundred percent sure that everything works out fine, Sherlock, not by now, but my heart tells me it will.”

“It definitely looks like. I really want him to be happy, Martha. And it seems Rosie could get a really great new mother.” _Instead of losing her father as well_ _if things went really badly_ …

“I hope it, Sherlock, really. It would mean a lovely future for him and Rosie, and it would take a lot of pressure from you.”

“You really made my day, Martha, I might even be nice to the clients today!” Of course he couldn’t promise that.

“You really don’t like to do that anymore, do you? Listening to their stories, helping them? Solving cases?”

“No, Martha, I don’t. There was a time when this was what was getting me through the day. I, well, I think I can be honest with you, I’ve never cared for these people, it was the thrill of solving puzzles and a way to occupy my mind. But now all I think of and all I want to have is Mycroft and my life with him and Lucky. That’s all that matters to me now, and it’s not going to change anymore. So I will still not like the days without my man, but I will spend time with him each evening, if the Queen lets me, and more often I will be able to stay the night there without owing anyone an explanation and nobody will want to have a piece of me in this house if John gets seriously involved with that woman.”

He stood up when he heard the doorbell ringing. “Seems my first client has arrived. I wish you a lovely day, Martha, and thanks for your support again, it’s greatly appreciated. Come, Lucky, off to battle.”

*****

A few hours later he stepped out of the shower in Mycroft’s posh bathroom, got dressed in training shorts and a red shirt, and jogged to the park with a happy little dog running next to him. He had spent the morning with a few cases he could have solved in his sleep, and then he had called it quits early and headed over to his lover’s house. He had texted with him occasionally during the day, and Mycroft had promised him to be home rather early. And now, after an hour of excessive training in the gym, he wanted to play with Lucky and reward the dog for being so calm and quiet the entire day.

Lucky was always there when he talked to clients, lying next to his chair and listening to their stories with certainly a lot more attention than Sherlock did. He rarely searched for contact with any of them; if they talked to him and were keen on touching him, he patiently endured it and behaved perfectly, but he was equally happy if they just left him alone. If a client complained about the dog and demanded to ban him from the room, Sherlock calmly told him or her where the door was. John had protested at first but after Sherlock had let him know that he could solve the case on his own anytime while Sherlock went out with his dog, the doctor had refrained from any further objections.

So Lucky was only searching for Sherlock’s and Mycroft’s attention; he loved to cuddle with Rosie and Mrs Hudson and definitely liked having his ears scratched by John or Anthea, but besides that, he wasn’t showing too much interest in people. With one exception.

“Hello Lucky, how are you today?” Oscar asked and tickled him under his muzzle. Lucky wagged his tail and licked his hands and then went off to greet Bobby… and Billy.

“He’s back home!” Sherlock stated with a happy grin. “Hello buddy, how’s your leg?” He kneeled down and pulled the dog close, and Billy started licking his throat. He wore a big bandage around one hind leg and he had trouble walking, but he was taking the pain with the brave indulgence that was so typical for dogs.

“Hi Sherlock, the doctor says he will probably recover soon but perhaps he will limp for a while, if not forever. But dogs can walk on three legs without a problem, so as long as he’s not in pain anymore in a week or so, we can both be happy.”

The two men sat down on a bench, and all three dogs received a big biscuit from Oscar. Then Sherlock started throwing the ball for Lucky, and whenever the wet toy was spat onto his shoes, he couldn’t help but smiling.

After letting Lucky run very far, Sherlock made sure that nobody was paying attention to them. “Has the police spoken to you again?” He had not met Oscar since the day he had visited him.

Oscar shook his head with a cheerful smile. “No. Apparently you and your brother were very convincing about my alibi.”

“And what about the other little problem?”

“Oh, don’t worry about that, Robin has disappeared for good.” Both of them chuckled. “I owe you really a lot, Sherlock, and I won’t forget that. If you or your brother need any help anytime, you know where to find me. If it’s to let some speeding tickets dissolve out of the system or any more delicate, dark secret that can be solved by computer skills, I’m your man.”

Sherlock smiled and threw the ball again, having Lucky run after it, yapping happily. Bobby watched his efforts rather bored, and the injured Billy looked after the ball with sad eyes. “Neither of us has a car, and we don’t have any dark secrets.” He was thankful for his ability to lie very convincingly, and this was a lie of big dimensions. Even if he hated to think of his wonderful relationship with Mycroft as anything  _ dark _ , he knew that it would be in anyone else’s eyes. He wished Oscar could really help them with their problems, but unfortunately changing laws and people’s prejudices was above his powers.

Oscar nodded. “Whatever possibly happens, Sherlock, I will do what I can to help you. How’s the birthday planning proceeding?” he changed the subject abruptly and started tickling Bobby’s ears. The huge dog had put his head on his bony thighs while Billy had lain down to his feet.

At first Sherlock had no idea what he was talking about, but then he remembered the story he had told him to justify the fact that he and Mycroft used to spend time in the park together. “Oh, not so good. We seem to come to no agreement. Go, Lucky!”

“When is the party?”

“Next month.” Indeed. They had not spoken about it anymore, but he knew that Mycroft expected him to go there. Pretending to be still part of the family, pretending that he and Mycroft were still normal brothers, pretending to care for any other member of his birth family, which he didn’t. But there was no way to disappoint Mycroft, so he would go there and behave. Or at least he would try to.

“Are you close to your family?” Oscar wanted to know.

_ To one member, oh yes… The others can go to hell…  _ “I wouldn’t say that, no. When I was younger, I was sort of the black sheep of the family, and even as a kid I’ve always felt kind of out of place with them. I was moody and difficult and much smarter than what was good for me. And none of my parents have ever been overly affectionate.”

“So you only had your brother to look after you.”

“Well, not really. He is seven years older than me, and when you are a child, that is like a million years. I got on his nerves a lot, and when I grew older, things got even more difficult. Let’s say I had a tough time as a teenager and young adult because of several issues, and he had a hard time with me.” Lucky had finally enough of running after the ball, and Sherlock took him on his lap and started stroking his soft fur.

“It seems you have sort of grown together since then.”

Sherlock tensed and glanced over to him, but all he could see in Oscar’s face was an expression of understanding and sympathy. “Yes, well, not so long ago, we went at each other’s throats whenever we met.”  _ And now we are at each other’s cocks even more eagerly as often as we can.  _ “We get along much better now since... a couple of weeks.”

“Your brother is an important man as it seems.”

Sherlock looked at him with slightly narrowed eyes. Whatever did Oscar know about Mycroft and what was this statement about?

“Because you said he was in charge of identifying this awful hacker and getting him into prison,” Oscar explained quickly.

“Oh, yes. Don’t worry, he is fine with not doing that.”

“And I’m very grateful for that! But he is not a policeman, is he? I can sense them from a hundred metres away.”

Sherlock laughed. “No, he is much more important than the police.”

“I thought so. He must really care very much about you to do all of this for me.”

Sherlock winced and felt his cheeks blush.

“Because he must think both of you would get in deep trouble if somehow the police found out that I did it. But, I have a solution for that, just in case you are worried.”

“Oh really?” Sherlock was still feeling very tense because of the  _ he must really care for you  _ part. But of course Oscar must have meant it in an innocent, brotherly way.

“Yes, if that ever happened, I’d be fucked if you forgive me for that expression. But I would tell them that I sent a guy who looks very similar to me here with Bobby, so he could give me an alibi, and I’d refuse to tell them who he was to not get him into trouble. They couldn’t prove that I didn’t do that. You only saw me from quite a distance, and it was the right dog, so nobody could ever blame you for making a false testimony.” He smiled with a proud expression.

Sherlock was speechless for a moment because of this smart and simple plan. “That would totally work! But let’s hope that you’ll never have to tell them that.”

“I’d certainly prefer not to.” Oscar smiled wryly and fell silent for a moment. “I have a son, you know,” he added then and absently touched Bobby’s ears.

“You do? But he doesn’t live with you, does he?”

“No. He is eleven now and I haven’t seen him for more than three years. His mother has told him so often that I was a bad man that he doesn’t want to see me anymore.” His tone was rather unemotional but Sherlock could see the pain in his eyes.

“Oh. That must be very hard for you.” It seemed sufficient to say that.

“Yes it is. Well, it seems she was right. I’m a criminal hacker and a murderer, so how much worse could a father get. Not that she knew about any of that, she just hates me because she thinks I’m a loser. But I may still have a chance to get him back, to convince him that I’m good for him, no matter what I am, and I owe this to you two.”

“Please, it’s fine, you don’t have to give me one of your kidneys because of a decision I made without even thinking about it.”

Oscar smiled. “You know... in the end, love is all that matters. I love my son and it’s so hard for me to not be a part of his life anymore. And I can imagine that... Oh man... What I want to say is: I offered you to give you any possible help if you ever got in trouble. But if you want, I could give you a little more.”

Sherlock was totally confused now. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Oscar’s voice was so quiet that he could hardly understand him. “I could make you very rich, Sherlock. Both of you.”

Sherlock laughed. What an offer! “Make us rich? How? By stealing money from another big company?” He shook his head. “That’s very generous of you, but you really don’t have to pay for our silence. I don’t care much about possessions, and Mycroft is a wealthy man already. And he would never accept it even if he wasn’t.”

“I see. I’m sorry if I offended you with this offer,“ the consultant said stiffly. But then he leaned forward. “Sherlock, perhaps there will be a time when you think differently about that, when a lot of money would come very handy for... a new start. A new life. And then you'll know you have an ally in me. Who would really do anything for you. Even if it’s stealing money from people who have so much of it that they will barely notice that it’s gone.”

In this moment Sherlock finally realised that Oscar knew what he and Mycroft really were. But then he wondered why he had still thought that the young man hadn’t noticed. After all, Sherlock knew now that he was not the harmless nerd he had appeared to be when they had first met him. He was a brilliant mind who could hack into any computer without leaving a trace, even at Buckingham Palace, and he had committed an almost perfect murder. He had reacted to Sherlock’s accusation of his guilt rather clumsily because Sherlock had caught him off guard, but as long as he had time to think, he was apparently an extremely intelligent man. And he did pay attention to what was happening before his eyes. Sherlock remembered very well that he had thought that he and Mycroft were boyfriends when he had first seen them.

But Sherlock just knew that Oscar would never speak it out if he didn’t do it himself and that he would definitely not tell anybody. And there was no way that Sherlock would talk to him about it. “You didn’t offend me at all. I appreciate it. But... this time will never come. And please, don’t say a word to Mycroft.”

“Of course not. Just keep it in mind, would you.” He gently lifted Bobby’s head from his lap and stood up. “I’m better off now. I have to take care of Billy’s leg, he needs his medicine.”

“I hope that he will recover completely,” Sherlock said, staying seated. “I’m sure that we’ll see each other again soon.”

“It’s always a pleasure to meet you. Bye for now, greetings to your brother.”

“Bye, and I will.” Sherlock watched the young man and his dogs leave the park, very slowly due to Billy’s handicap. Oscar was encouraging him lovingly when he had to pause.

Sherlock held his own dog close against his stomach. “Did you hear that, Lucky? He wants to make us rich. So that Daddy and I could go away.” Lucky yapped and he smiled. “We would never go without you, don’t you worry.” His kissed the silky head. “But we will never go anyway. Daddy’s too decent for that. And too important for the Queen.” Finally he stood up and put Lucky on the ground, who picked up his ball with his teeth. “Let’s go home now. It’s time to start waiting for Daddy.”

*****

“Mr Holmes, you are leaving?” The _already_ was hanging inaudibly in the air, and Mycroft would have loved to beat it down.

“I was indeed about to do that, Mr Scott,” he said with a thin smile. He had worked very hard today to be finished that early; while early meaning five o’clock, almost eleven hours after arriving in the office, eleven hours of hard mind work with only a quick lunch break. He decided at once that this had been much too long; the next day he would be leaving at four if there was nothing important that required his presence.

“Then I’m sure that you have already finished the preparation of the Edinburgh conference?” the PA said in a tone that not many people ever dared use on Mycroft Holmes.

Mycroft stood up very slowly from the chair behind his desk, resting on his hands and leaning forward. “I indeed have.”  _ And you, my friend, are walking on very thin ice. _

“That’s strange because I haven’t received a copy of the agenda yet, and…”

“Why would you? Neither you nor your boss will attend the conference,” he replied coldly.  _ Thank God they won’t _ . In the corner of his eye he saw Anthea walking into the room; Albert Scott had left it open as usual. “You will be informed about the outcome of course.”

“But that’s not the point! We need to know what exactly is going to happen!”

“I’m sure that Miss Hunter will provide you with the necessary information.” Mycroft looked over to her, and she smiled. 

“It’s already sent out, sir.”

Mycroft started packing some written pleadings into his briefcase and took his umbrella. “So, if that’s all, I wish you a good day, Mr Scott.”

“What about that hacker? Are there any news?”

_ Oh yes, indeed. But you have to be one of the last people on earth I would tell anything about him.  _ “I’m afraid not,” he said in a regretting tone. “But it has become rather quiet on the  _ wedding-dress-picture _ -front, hasn’t it?”

“But that’s not the point, he…”

“You are repeating yourself, Mr Scott. And you are stealing my time. If your master has a problem with how I’m doing my work, he can talk to me anytime; he has always known how to find me. I wonder why all at once it’s always you who is hunting me down each and every day. Perhaps he doesn’t even know that you are here to plague me?”

Albert Scott paled and pointed with his forefinger at him. “He’s not my  _ master _ ! And he agrees that you are slipping lately, you…”

Mycroft leaned forward again and suppressed the urge to break the finger; instead he grabbed the PA’s unbelievably ugly, red-green tie. He pulled him close and looked straight into his round, wide open eyes. “Listen to me,  _ Bertie _ . How long have you been working for his majesty now, two years? And you still don’t know who I am? Didn’t they warn you about me? Don’t you know my nickname? What do you want, my job? I don’t think you would be really happy if you had it. But whatever you’re about, if you keep on bugging me and trying to undermine my position that I’m occupying for longer than you are out of school, you will get a good impression of what I’m capable of.” He let the man go and took his coat. “If you are so kind to excuse me now, I’m leaving. And if you have any concerns next time, please make an appointment with Miss Hunter.” He was quite sure that this would take place at seven in the morning then or not at all.

Scott was gasping and his cheeks were dark-red. But to Mycroft’s surprise he didn’t say anything but a very quiet  _ goodbye _ and left; not shutting the door behind him was his only further affront.

Mycroft looked over to Anthea and expected a smile, but her expression was earnest.

“What? You think I was too hard on him? Hurt his precious feelings?” he asked her with raised eyebrows. He was feeling rather light now. He had wanted to tell this pain in the arse for so long now that he was going too far. It had been time to draw the line.

She waved this away. “Not at all. But… Do you want to know what I’m asking myself?”

“Of course!” He sat down again, looking at her expectantly.

“I wonder why he dislikes you so much. It was always clear that he’s not fond of you, but he never dared talk to you like that. You said that the PM perhaps doesn’t know that his weasel is trying to bully you all the time. But what if he does? If it’s not Scott that is your enemy?”

Mycroft sighed. “I suppose they both are. There have been too many uneasy situations with them lately. And I know it was rather childish of me to not let you send him the agenda in the first place. I knew that it would annoy Scott and probably the PM as well. And regarding the time I’ve been leaving the office lately, in their eyes I’m certainly slipping, working only eleven hours instead of thirteen than before.” He bit his lip when he realised his choice of words. _Before_ _what_? Before _Sherlock_ of course but he couldn’t say that.

But Anthea didn’t ask him but vehemently shook her head. “No, you are not. You only try to take a little bit better care of yourself than you have done during the last years. And I’m glad that you do that. Work is not everything. Not even for you.”

Mycroft smiled about her concern; he got up and walked around his desk. “Yes, it seems I finally understood that.” He grabbed his umbrella. “So, I’m on my way now and you can…”

“Mr Holmes,” he was interrupted by a sultry, female voice. He closed his eyes for a moment before he turned to the door. “Lady Smallwood,” he greeted her, keeping his voice neutral. “What can I do for you?”

His colleague shot a glare towards Anthea, who caught Mycroft’s gaze, and he shook his head for less than a second, telling her silently that she should stay. It was not that Mycroft was necessarily afraid of being alone with the lady, but he did feel uncomfortable when it happened. She had not taken to make him advances for several months, but the way she looked at him whenever they met told him that she still hoped that he would make the first step. Of course she would have to wait for the rest of her life for that. She was a very smart lady and he couldn’t understand why she had still not figured that out.

When she had realised that Anthea wouldn’t leave them alone - instead the PA was pretending to search for something in the small pile of files on Mycroft’s neat desk - she made a step towards him and said with a quiet voice: “Mycroft, I have two invitations for the dinner of the Ambassador of France for next week Friday. We need to talk to him anyway about the Louvre-plan, so I thought you could come there with me.”

Mycroft put on a thoughtful expression. “Anthea, would you have a look at my schedule for that day and find out if I’m free at all?”  _ At all _ was a code for  _ no way in the world will I go there/ meet him/ do this/ have time even if the world ends _ . But of course he was quite sure that Anthea knew very well that he had no interest in any further than necessary contact with any of his colleagues, let alone Lady Smallwood.

“I’m afraid not, sir,” Anthea said after consulting her phone. “You will have many meetings that day and you will have an appointment at six o’clock that will approximately last until eight.”

“Oh, yes, that will be a very long day. I’m sorry, Lady Smallwood, I have to say no.”

“I understand,” she said coldly. “I see you were about to leave and I don’t want to hold you up. I don’t suppose you have time for a coffee now?”

Mycroft shook his head, but before he could answer she tightened her small lips even more. “I didn’t expect anything else. Have a good evening.” With this she left.

“Dear God…” Mycroft mumbled. This second and totally silly attack had caught him completely off-guard. Was she  _ asking _ for being rejected? Her reaction to the first time had shown clearly enough that she had known that it had been an excuse.

“I’m sorry, sir, perhaps I didn’t lie convincingly enough,” Anthea apologised.

“Don’t worry about that - it’s not your job to keep me from unwelcome advances,” Mycroft assured her. “Perhaps I should have explicitly told her months ago that I’m not interested in her. But I'll still have to work together with her, and you should expect she would have figured it out by now.”

“Well, it seems to me that she does know it now.”

_ Yes, and she didn’t take it well… My enemies are getting more with every minute today… _

“I think I should really finally get out of here now before…”

“Mr Holmes! Good that I’m still catching you! You wanted to leave so early again?”

He suppressed a deep sigh. “Sir Edwin, nice to see you…”

*****

“This was delicious, honey, you’ve really outdone yourself today.” Mycroft used his tissue and put the cutlery on his empty plate. “You could become a chef anytime.”

Sherlock grinned. “Working for a sex hotline, becoming Ronny-The-Rollicking-Rimmer, being a chef - it seems that you put a lot of trust in my ability to pull off every possible occupation.”

“But you really could do so much else,” Mycroft assured him. “If being the clever detective really annoys you so much now, you could try out something else anytime. You could even work as a chemist; it’s not that you were not educated in that.”

“Boring,” Sherlock said simply and picked at his own pasta with apparently very little appetite.

“You seem to be a little depressed all at once, honey. How come? There are great news about the doctor, I’m home early even though it took quite some effort to shake off Sir Bald in a polite way for a change, we just shared a very good meal, we will have a lot of sex after you finally finished up your portion, so why are you so down?”

Sherlock’s face brightened up. “Really? A lot of sex?” He started eating again quickly and Mycroft laughed. “I knew that would help. But seriously, Sherlock, what’s the matter?”

“What do you mean,  _ seriously _ ?” Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows. “Does that mean that you joked about the sex part?”

“Sherlock, you are sitting here with tight training shorts that almost show your entire delicious little arse, your legs look like you have stolen them from an extraordinarily muscular marble statue, and I can see your tattoo through your tight white shirt. You can be happy that I let you eat at all instead of having been all over you as soon as I came home! Of course we are going to have a lot of sex!”

“Good, very good,” Sherlock said with his mouth full.

“Sherlock…” he admonished him. Then he winced when he felt something cold and wet on the tiny piece of skin that was showing between his sock and his trousers, but of course it was Lucky, who had finished his own meal. Mycroft grabbed him and lifted him on his lap. He stroked the small head and smiled when the dogfood-breath hit his nose while Lucky was looking at him admiringly.

“Sorry, now I’m finished and may talk, let’s go upstairs!” The detective stood up and quickly brought their plates to the sink and swirled to reach out for Mycroft’s hand but Mycroft didn’t act up on it.

“I didn’t mean that! I still wonder why you are not feeling well!”

“Oh, it’s nothing. Let’s go and I promise you I’ll be feeling great in no time! And so will you!”

“I don’t doubt that at all but…” He grabbed Sherlock’s left hand now. “I won’t give you my cock before you told me what’s wrong.”

Sherlock sighed and let himself fall onto his chair again. “Do we have to go to this party?”

“What party?” Mycroft was very confused. He had not expected that. He had not had any idea what could be wrong with his lover, but this explanation stunned him.

“Mother’s birthday party.”

“Why ever do you think of that at all? It’s next month and, well, yes, we'll need to go there. But what’s the big deal? We don’t really have to organise it, you know, we will be at their house, probably have to stay over there the night before, with exquisite catering and the usual crazy Holmes-people around we can laugh about together - I think it will be rather funny. We can let someone call us there anytime to excuse us early; I’m sure that Anthea will do this with pleasure. And then we’ll come back here and fuck each other through the entire house.”

“But I want to do that there!” Sherlock exclaimed.

“Well, that might be a little too wild for even the eccentric Holmes family I’m afraid.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes, of course.” Mycroft tightened his grip around Sherlock’s hand. “For them, for our parents and uncles and cousins and whatever, for all people who know us, we will always be the Holmes brothers. Even though we feel so differently about each other now, even though we are much more than that, that’s what we always will be. Believe me, nothing would make me happier than going there with you, stepping up to our parents, holding your hand, and telling them what we have become. But we can’t.”

“I know. And yes, I will behave and be polite and well-mannered to every stupid member of this fucking family.”

“Please don’t, they would only think that you are an imposter!” It was a relief to hear Sherlock giggle. But there it had shown up again: this pain that was nagging at Sherlock’s soul had raised its ugly head.

“I’m sorry for annoying you with that again,” Sherlock said, earnestly once more.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything. I understand it better than you give me credit for.” He held Lucky close and stood up. “Let’s go upstairs now.” He brought the dog into the living room and gave him a new chew bone that he had bought on his way home.

“You are spoiling him,” Sherlock teased him.

“I know, and I love to do that. So, let’s go. Our bed is screaming for attention.”

“I can hear it. But Mycie, I met Oscar today. With both dogs.”

“Oh, really, how is Billy?” Mycroft asked when they walked up the steps hand in hand.

“He was limping and is apparently still in pain, but they hope that he will recover completely. And even if the leg remains rather stiff, he will be able to live with that. He’s the same great dog as he was before.”

“That’s very good news.” They had reached the bedroom and Mycroft started taking his clothes off. “And what about Oscar? Did the police leave him alone?”

“They did indeed. And he told me what he will tell them should they ever be able to prove his guilt on the murder case.”

Mycroft listened to his short explanation. “Wow, of course. What an easy solution. Why didn’t we think of that? I thought we were so much smarter than him.”

“I don’t think we are. He’s very intelligent, Mycie.” Sherlock looked into his eyes seriously, and Mycroft rubbed his forehead.

“He knows about us, doesn’t he?” he asked Sherlock, shaking his head. Already in the nude except for his socks, he sat down on the bed, and so did Sherlock.

“Yes. He didn’t explicitly say it, but yes. He… even he offered us money.”

“Money? What for? And I take it he won’t tell anybody?”

“He has even more to lose than we have, don’t you think? What I haven’t mentioned is that he has an estranged son that he wants to reconcile with, and he especially thanked me for giving him the opportunity to do it without being in a prison cell. And he likes us. No, he will never expose our secret.”

Mycroft just nodded and took off his socks as well.

“I thought you would freak out despite all this,” Sherlock said in a rather surprised tone. “This time I didn’t give it away accidentally, he figured it out by himself, but again it’s me who has to tell you about it. You seem to get used to it.”

Mycroft squeezed his shoulder and kissed him on a sexy cheekbone. “Really, I wouldn’t say that. But after experiencing Martha’s tremendous support and loyalty and given the fact that Oscar owes us, and especially you, so much, there’s no reason to freak out. It wouldn’t change anything anyway, would it? And actually, it didn’t really amaze me. Some of the things he said, what he saw from us, how he thought we were boyfriends right at the start, his apparent geniality as a hacker - it can’t have been difficult for him to figure it out. But if he didn’t really say it, how do you know at all? Just a deduction?”

“Because he offered us money,” Sherlock said again.

“Yeah, right, you said, what about that? To pay for our silence? But that wouldn’t mean he knows anything.”

“No, not to pay us in any way. To… help us beginning a new life.” His tone was flat and he avoided Mycroft’s gaze.

And now Mycroft finally understood Sherlock’s mood. The birthday party was not cheering him up either of course; probably Oscar had reminded him of it by asking about their plans for the feast as this had been their excuse for spending Sunday afternoons in a park together. That Sherlock didn’t want to go there - not only because they had to hide their love but also because he seemed to hate their parents now - was completely clear to him. But the real reason behind his depression was another one. He remembered how his lover’s mood had darkened when he had suggested looking for another sort of job. Sherlock didn’t want another job as he would only hate it, too. He wanted to leave it all behind with him. And yet he had never suggested it to him, had never asked him to leave his life and England behind. Because a news start could only happen somewhere where nobody knew them. Mycroft didn’t have to be a genius to know that Sherlock would do that in a second. And yet he had never mentioned it to him. Because he had known the answer.

“Sherlock,” he started, feeling equally depressed now, but Sherlock put a huge warm hand on his cheek and kissed him tenderly. “Don’t, Mycie. Don’t talk now. Love me.” He crawled up on the bed and lay down with spread legs, pulling on his slightly swollen dick.

Mycroft followed him and after a long, tender kiss he started licking on his long, delicate throat, the sharp collarbones and his dark, erect nipples, then moved down on his body, paying special attention to the tattoo that still fascinated him tremendously; he followed the lines of both letters with the tip of his tongue. His left hand was taking care of Sherlock’s now fully hard cock until he let his mouth take over. Listening to the sweet music of Sherlock’s low moans, he licked up and down the long shaft, let his tongue tickle the wet slit and then swallowed the whole thing down.

His own dick was hard and throbbing and left wet traces on the linen. As he had not opened up Sherlock in any way, he could not just bury it into him even though he was burning to do it, so instead he lay down on him and rubbed his hard, hot flesh against Sherlock’s, the skin moving over their respective heads with every upward movement, their pre-cum easing their way, though increased by a meaningful amount of Mycroft’s saliva. And all the time they were looking into each other’s eyes with gazes so open and telling and full of strong feelings and the words that they had not spoken out:

_ I want to go away with you - I know and I want it, too - But you won’t - I can’t - I know - I love you, never doubt that I love you - I won’t, and I love you so much, too -  I don’t want you to feel bad - I know and I’m sorry but I can’t help it - There must be a way to be happy here, we must only find it - I am happy when I’m with you and nobody is around - Yes, me too, and I wish we could be like that forever - Me too, but we only could if we went away. _

Mycroft closed his eyes, breaking off the wordless but meaningful conversation that had come to a dead end, when he felt his climax coming. He shifted his body so Sherlock could grab both of their cocks with his enormously long violinist fingers, and then they both moaned when hot semen was shooting out of two big, red, swollen dicks, all over Sherlock’s chest and stomach, one drop even hitting his chin. And while the waves of pleasure still crashed through his body and soul, Mycroft caught this pert drop with his tongue, not even knowing if it had escaped his or Sherlock’s body, and then licked down on the hard, muscular, beautiful body until he had drunk up every bit of salty, sweet fluid so he could rest his head on Sherlock’s broad chest, feeling his strong arms close around him, holding him so tight as if he never wanted to let him go again.

“I love you, Sherlock,” he whispered, feeling the need to say it loud.

“And I love you, Mycie. Until the world ends.”


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a very short chapter, and after this one, there will be three long ones about their time in Edinburgh; I will post them later today.

Sherlock didn’t stop at 221A when he returned to Baker Street in the morning. He had stayed in bed for a while after Mycroft had left to go to work. They hadn’t talked much the evening before when their encounter had been over, and both of them had remained quiet in the morning, too; when Sherlock had woken up, Mycroft had already been awake and watching him thoughtfully, and they had met for a wordless kiss that had lasted almost ten minutes until Mycroft had to get up. He had asked Sherlock if he wanted to have breakfast with him, but Sherlock had not felt like it but had just headed into the shower and shaved, then he had returned to bed. He had not slept anymore, instead staring at the ceiling, absently stroking Lucky, who had been lying flat on his chest. Mycroft had come into the bedroom before finally leaving, and they had kissed again and shared  _ I love you's _ .

When he walked up the stairs now, he was still feeling numb and tired, and he didn’t really know why. It was not that Mycroft’s reaction had disappointed him, let alone surprised him. He had never asked him to go away with him because he had always known that with Mycroft’s profession, this was not an option. And of course they could find happiness here, by just being with each other. And still… and still he was feeling like shit.

When he entered his flat, Lucky ran into the living room and he heard Rosie giggle ten seconds later. He followed the dog and saw John sitting in his chair.

“Good morning, Sherlock,” he greeted him. He sat there stiffly and seemed to be very nervous, rubbing his chubby fingers against each other.

“Good morning. Aren’t you late for work?”

“I will begin an hour later. I… wanted to talk to you first since we hardly see each other anymore.”

Sherlock sat down on the couch. “Alright, I’m here now.” His voice sounded toneless.

“Oh God, I don’t know how to tell you that… I… met someone.”

_ Shit. Finally time to wake up, Sherlock! God, it really worked!  _ “Well, we all meet other people from time to time, it’s inevitable. Did I mention I went to a bakery yesterday and…”

“Sherlock! That’s not what I’m talking about!”

“So what  _ are _ you talking about, John?” It felt good to be cruel…

“You know, Mrs Hudson, Martha, knows an old lady…”

“Aren’t they all? I mean, really, she is always going to or coming from another old lady.”

John sighed deeply, apparently he was close to ripping his own hair out. “Sherlock, please, would you listen to me? This is hard enough!”

“Sorry, John, go on. So she knows an old lady?”

“She has a daughter, and she works as a childminder, and she came here two days ago, and I brought Rosie to her for the first time yesterday.”

“Oh, nice. Well, she is still in one piece so that woman can’t be too bad.”

“I love her!” John blurted.

“Of course you do! She’s your daughter after all. So, if you don’t have any more breaking news for me, I would…”

“Not Rosie, Kelly!”

Sherlock was about to ask him why he changed his girl’s name all at once, but he figured that would have been too much. “Kelly?”

“The childminder. The daughter of…”

“So you are saying that you don’t love Rosie but Kelly?” he interrupted him. He just couldn’t resist. This was much more fun than he had ever expected, especially after feeling so depressed before. He just wondered why John was talking to him at all about that - he was supposed to leave it to Martha.

“What? No, of course I love Rosie! But, Kelly as well.”

“Wait a minute, you only met her - what did you say - two days ago, and now you are saying that you love her?”

“I know this is crazy, I’ve never experienced something like that before, not even with Mary. I know she’s what I’ve always been looking for. And for whatever reason, she feels the same.”

Sherlock decided that it was time now to be hurt, abandoned and depressed. Which was not so difficult after all. “And what about me? What about this  _ oh Sherlock, we'll have to try if we have a future together?  _ What about  _ we could be a family, you, me, Rosie and Lucky?  _ What do you expect me to say to that now? Congratulations?!”

John stood up from his chair and settled next to him on the couch, grabbing for his hand. “I’m so sorry, Sherlock, you must think I’m a total bastard, and I even said to you that I would never drop you. But… it just happened. It was not planned or anything.”

_ Oh John, you have no idea _ … Sherlock ripped his hand out of his. “My God, if I had given into your advances, I would hang myself now.”

“What?! Oh Sherlock, please, I've never meant to hurt you, I… God, I’m such an idiot, Martha told me I should let her break it gently to you, I…”

“Martha? Oh great, so you've told her first, well, sure, I guess you two laughed about me -  _ silly Sherlock is still in love with the straight doctor _ .” He let a tear appear in his right eye and glared at John so he would notice it.

“No! No! Don’t cry, Sherlock, please! Nobody laughs about you, God, I’m so sorry!”

“Alright John. “ Sherlock produced more tears and felt that his nose was starting to run. “So I will sit here in this room and watch you with her, playing happy family, and I will be…”

“No, of course not, I won’t bring her here, she has a house and I will go to her with Rosie.”

“Yes, that’s an improvement of course - a house!” Sherlock knew that he had to stop now but he simply had too much fun.

“It’s not that, Sherlock, she’s just…” John broke off, looking completely deranged.

Sherlock thought he had let him suffer enough now. “I’m sorry, John, that wasn’t fair. Don’t let me stand in your way. If you think she’s good for you, and good for Rosie, what can I do? I’ve been loving you from a distance for so long now, and I've always known that we would never be together. I don’t know why this has taken me so off-guard at all. It had to happen someday. As long as you don’t expect me to stand there and grin when you kiss her in front of me, I guess I will learn to live with it.”

“Oh Sherlock, thank you. And no, you will never have to watch that. Not until… you’ve found someone you can love and who deserves your love much more than I do.”

“This is never going to happen, John.”  _ Because it happened two months ago; I just can’t tell you because he’s my brother. _ “I’ll be single forever.” And all at once the depression was back with full force, the tears that came to his eyes now were real.

“Sherlock, come here.” John’s voice was full of compassion and concern, and then he was pulled against the doctor and felt his strong arms around his shoulders; Lucky was there and rubbed his head against his leg like a cat, and then his phone vibrated in his shirt pocket. He got up, getting rid of John’s arms. “I’m sorry, John. If you excuse me now, I will go into my bedroom. And I guess you'll have to go to work.” He stood up and so did John.

“Are we still friends?” the doctor asked him with a strange, small voice.

“Of course we are. Like we’ve always been. Come, Lucky.” He went to his room without looking back and threw himself onto the bed, holding one arm out for Lucky. Then he took out his phone, read the text and smiled.

_ I can’t concentrate on work. I love you so much, Sherlock. MH _

_ You could do your work while you’re sleeping. That’s why England would fall without you. I love you, too, Mycie. SH _

_ Will you be there when I come home? MH _

_ Where else would I be? SH _

_ I’m sorry, Sherlock. MH _

_ I know. Good news: John and Kelly are officially a couple now. So I’m free of him. SH _

_ Wow. That was really fast. I will send flowers to Martha. MH _

_ She’ll be happy. But you know about what she would be even more delighted. SH _

_ I’m not making a dildo for her, Sherlock. My dick is only for you, no matter if it’s made of flesh or of silicone. MH _

_ Can I have the one made of flesh tonight? In my mouth? My arse? SH _

_ Wherever you want it. By the way it’s hard now. MH _

_ Oops. Sorry! Then better don’t imagine how I'll suck at it. Hard, with hollow cheeks and a tongue that just loves to lick out your slit. SH _

_ Dear God… You are a cruel man, Sherlock. MH _

_ I don’t know what you mean. I'll let you get back to work now so you’ll be finished early. Can you concentrate better now? SH _

_ You must be kidding, my cock is almost bursting my trousers. MH _

_ So yes? SH _

_ Yes. Thank you, Sherlock. You are my everything. Even if you don’t believe it. MH _

_ And you are mine. Bye for now. And I’ll be waiting for you. I love you. SH _

_ I’ll come as soon as possible. Love you so much. MH _

Sherlock put the phone back in his pocket and scratched Lucky’s head. “Daddy says he loves me. And yes, he does.” He grabbed the dog and got up. “Let’s go to Martha. She deserves a kiss.”


	20. Chapter 20 - Edinburgh

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, our boys have reached Edinburgh. This hotel doesn't exist by the way. 
> 
> There is a scene in it that very sensitive people might consider as non-con. It is very short and absolutely not violent. But it will have some impact on one of our boys.

“Wow, that’s a bed! Jump on it, come on!” Lucky didn’t need any more encouragement and started bouncing on the huge waterbed. Sherlock watched him with a grin and let himself fall backwards.

Sherlock, Mycroft, Lucky and Anthea had just arrived at the King of Scotland Hotel, a luxurious hotel in the heart of Edinburgh, after the short flight from London in a government plane. Their rooms were on the same floor but it was quite a way between Mycroft’s and Anthea’s rooms, while only four rooms were separating Mycroft’s and Sherlock’s. His lover had taken care of the reservation of Sherlock’s room personally; he had not wanted to involve any government resources as Sherlock was there as a private person. He didn’t appear on the passenger list of the plane and Mycroft was paying for his lodging.

They would stay in Scotland for three days and nights. Of course Sherlock would not see a lot from his lover during the days, but they would spend the evenings and the nights together, except for the last day when Mycroft’s meetings would end around noon but he would be attending a little dinner party so they would spend some time during the day and then the night. They were now able to be together more in London, too, but it felt differently to be far away. There was still no way that they could be open about their relationship in public as they couldn’t be sure that no other participants of the conference would see them, but Sherlock was quite hopeful that they could find a quiet place out there where nobody could watch them. He still fantasized about sex in a public place, but there was an icy wind blowing even though it was still August, and he sensed that Mycroft wouldn’t be up to it. But a stolen kiss would hopefully be possible, far away from other people. Of course they could do that in London as well, but here Sherlock was much less known so it was definitely less dangerous. And having such a distance between them and the people they knew felt like freedom. Except for Anthea of course. Mycroft had told her that Sherlock would come with them to visit an old friend from university in order to talk to him about an experiment he’d been planning for quite some time now, and also to do some sight-seeing. Sherlock didn’t actually know anyone in Scotland and he couldn’t have cared less about the sights - the only sight he was eager to admire was the naked body of his man. But he was very grateful that Anthea seemed to buy the explanation and that he was allowed to be here with Mycroft.

After a knock at the door, Mycroft entered his room and closed the door behind him. “We’re going to the conference centre now. You two will have a nice day?”

Sherlock had been on his feet in the moment Mycroft had come in. He wrapped his arms around his neck and kissed him. “We will. Lucky said he knows the best places for peeing at.”

Mycroft embraced his waist and rubbed his nose against his ear. “If they call me and tell me that you were arrested because you took your dick out and peed against Edinburgh Castle in front of a million tourists, I will tell them that I have no idea who you are.”

“Speaking of my dick…”

“Don’t try to seduce me, Sherlock, I have to work. But tonight we’ll test this fancy waterbed.”

“I will fuck you so hard that it bursts,” Sherlock promised him.

“I can’t wait. I'll have to go now so don’t get in trouble, alright?”

“Moi? I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Right. Take care now.”

“Will you text me or call me?”

“Definitely, as soon as I can. I will have to skip lunch as we are starting late today. Bu we will have dinner together once I’ll be finished; there’s a nice restaurant in front of the centre I was told. I will let you know when I'm through and you can come there. Perhaps Anthea will come with us though.”

“Sure. As long as she doesn’t want to join us in the bedroom.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Certainly not. Bye now.” He kissed Sherlock again and it was obvious that he’d have rather stayed with him.

“Don’t let them bore you to death.” Sherlock was equally reluctant to let him go.

“They will try for sure. But then I'll just have to think of you, that will keep me awake. And if even that doesn’t help, Anthea will step on my foot.”

Mycroft had told Sherlock what the conference was about when the matter had come up.  _ Conference _ was a rather big word for what was going to happen. There had been several difficulties and misunderstandings between Scottish authorities and the government in London, especially regarding the coordination of police forces and the MI5. The Scottish Chief Constable had not been happy about several incidents. Sending a high official like Mycroft there, was an attempt to make things work smoothly in future. So it would be just one meeting after the other to talk about what could be done better and what should rather be avoided. Mycroft and Anthea would be the only attendants from London, and it was Mycroft’s job to leave everybody happy after several days of soothing and playing nice.

“So basically you are going to kiss their arses for three days so they'll shut up?” Sherlock had asked after his long and complicated explanations.

“You never fail to express yourself equally graphically and sophisticatedly,” Mycroft had answered with a grin. Soon after that Sherlock had shown him much  _ he _ liked licking arses, but it had not shut Mycroft up, instead it had caused him to take to very indecent swearing and moaning.

Now he bent down and rubbed Lucky’s head, and then he left after kissing Sherlock once more.

Sherlock sighed when the door had closed behind him. “Time for a little nap?” he suggested. Lucky yapped an agreement, and after Sherlock had undressed except for his boxers, master and dog cuddled up on the heavenly comfortable bed, wrapped up warm in the luxurious linen together, and they both fell asleep in no time.

*****

When Sherlock woke up, he felt refreshed and relaxed. He checked his phone but there was no text from his lover; it seemed the Scots were keeping him busy. Or perhaps he had to concentrate so hard to understand what they were saying that he didn’t have time for a text. Sherlock figured he had about four hours before Mycroft would be finished for the day and ask him to come to the restaurant. So he fed Lucky and then they went out into the sunny, windy day to get a glimpse of Scotland’s capital.

He went down the Royal Mile but it took him only thirty seconds to decide that this wasn’t a place for someone who hated shopping and crowds, let alone for a little dog. He could barely save Lucky from being kicked accidentally, and he took him on his arms and headed out of the busy street. It was festival time in Edinburgh and the city was full of people from everywhere in the world. He wondered why this bloody conference had to take place in August of all months. Certainly it had been the idea of the PM or his idiot of a PA…

The small streets apart from the tourist attractions appealed to Sherlock a lot better, and he could let Lucky walk again. In an empty, very narrow dark street he passed by a little shop. After two steps he paused, looked back, and then returned and stepped closer to the shop window. It looked rather interesting. The name of the store was _LeatherLovers_ , and Sherlock looked fascinated at gloves and chaps and high boots, all worn by extremely muscular, headless puppets.

“You can come in. The dog is welcome, too.” Sherlock winced when he heard the hoarse, deep voice. A black-haired man was standing in the door, huge even compared to Sherlock, and he looked like a walking advertise for the products he sold, being dressed in leather gear from head (a cap with a chain attached to it) to toe (heavy boots with a silver skull on it). In between there was leather, too, but actually it rather accentuated his bare, smooth, tanned skin than it served as dressing. He was also tattooed all over with very explicit motives, and the inevitable beard suited his ruggedly attractive face well.

“Don’t be shy, come in. I won't bite you. At least not if you don’t ask me to.”

Sherlock was about to run away, but the man grabbed his arm and grinned. “I’m just kidding. You look as if you liked to please someone with a special outfit. Just have a look if you find anything that your darling might like on you. And if not, it’s fine, too.”

Sherlock decided to give it a try. At least Lucky had not barked or growled at the man so he was probably harmless. He was amazed that he couldn’t deduce him. But then he thought of Oscar and how he had terribly misjudged him. Perhaps having sex on a regular basis dimmed the ability of deducing people. But if he had to pick, sex would win any day.

He looked around in the dusky room. There were cabinets full of cockrings, dildos of enormous dimensions and a lot of other stuff he had never seen before.

“Usually I don’t open before the late afternoon.  But something told me that I’d be having a promising customer. I’m Ray Burns and you don’t have to tell me your name.”

Sherlock sighed. “Oh, right, you know me. Well, it’s not that far from London, is it?”

Ray looked rather irritated. “No, I mean, usually the people don’t tell me their names. They tend to want to stay incognito. So you are a celebrity or what?”

_ Oh, great _ … “No, not at all, I just… Anyway, I… You really don’t have a problem with my dog?”

Ray smiled and bent down to let Lucky sniff at his hand (or the fingers that were sticking out of his fingerless leather gloves) and then touched him gently. “I love dogs. I used to have one but… well, I lost him a year ago.” A tear appeared in one of his warm, brown eyes.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Perhaps you should get a new one. There are many dogs without a home out there and I’m sure that he will be in good hands with you.” He tensed when he realised that Ray could take this as an attempt to flirt with him, and he was relieved when the huge man just patted on his shoulder and grinned broadly.

“That’s a great idea! I will do that tomorrow! So did you get yours from a shelter, too?”

“No, my boyfriend took him away from his owner.”

“You mean he saw him and thought, hey, my lover boy might like him, so he just stole it?” He sounded very impressed and Sherlock grinned. Apparently Ray thought that Mycroft was a bear of a man like he was, just taking what he wanted when he wanted it. He had no idea that Mycroft was much more dangerous than that.

“No, he was sitting in his car and saw this guy kicking the dog, so he got out and kicked him instead, and then the man gave him the dog voluntarily.”

Ray laughed loudly. “Voluntarily, that’s great! I would like your man, that’s for sure! I would have killed that bastard. Are you here for longer and is your sweetie with you? You could bring him here and I could dress up both of you!”

The image of slim, tall, hyper elegant Mycroft in black leather instead of a tailored suit almost caused a short circuit in Sherlock’s brain. But he knew that his man would never want to wear something like that. But he sensed that he would like to see Sherlock in it.

“I don’t think he would give it a try. But…” He broke off, feeling stupidly embarrassed to speak about such an intimate matter with a complete stranger, even if it was one who had probably heard it all before.

“But you think he would love to wrap you out of it?” Ray finished his sentence with an understanding nod. “I’m sure that he would. You have the perfect figure for it.”

Sherlock squeaked when a huge hand was grabbing his arse, and then two of them measured his waist and then his thighs, all in five seconds. “Yes, I have the perfect stuff for you. Just wait a minute!” With this the big man disappeared in the back of the dark shop, and Sherlock was about to run out of the store when his phone buzzed.

_ God, they are killing me! Who knew that arse-licking could be so tiring! And it’s only the first day! What are you up to? MH _

_ Oh, I’m doing some shopping. SH _

_ You? But you hate shopping! MH _

_ Well, it’s a surprise for you. SH _

_ Oh, nice. What is it? MH _

_ You are aware of the meaning of the term “surprise”? SH _

_ Alright alright. Will I like it? MH _

_ I suppose so. SH _

_ It’s something hot, isn’t it? MH _

_ I won't tell you. SH _

_ Damn. Now I will muse about what it could be for the rest of the day. Not even a hint? MH _

_ Nope. Let’s just say the waterbed will have a tough time tonight. SH _

_ Ooooh… Alright, now I can go back without hitting anybody. Thank you. Love you! MH _

_ It’s my pleasure. And I love you, too. Be nice to them! SH _

_ I’ll try. Talk later! Kisses! MH _

“Oh, you should have seen the smile on your face.” Sherlock almost dropped the phone. Ray was back and he was holding some archaic-looking piece of clothing in one hand and long, black trousers in the other one. Sherlock hurried to put the phone back into his pocket. “I've never met anybody who I trusted to look good in that,” Ray said. “But I bet it fits you perfectly.”

“What is that?

“It’s a gothic, military waistcoat,” Ray explained. “Of course it’s not really military. If the guys wore this, they would be too busy fucking with each other to win a war.” He put the black leather vest on the desk behind him. “See, there are buckles all over; they have push buttons so you can open them very easily. Your man doesn’t have to waste any time on carefully taking it off, he can just rip it open. Oh, and this here is for the rest of your delicious body.” He presented Sherlock a pair of long chaps, not really trousers as he had thought, of course also made of black leather. “I do have boots, too, but that’s not so important, is it?” He winked at Sherlock. “Alright, try it on.”

“What?!” Sherlock shook his head in horror.

“Try it on, boy! Behind me there’s a dressing room. If you need help in closing the stuff, just shout for me.”

“But I cannot…”

“Try… it… on! That was your man who just texted you, right? You looked so fucking much in love - I bet you love to please him. And he will be pleased when he sees you in this, believe me. Go on, just give it a try. Not for me, for him! You always have to keep your sex life healthy, trust me. My man and I are fucking like rabbits every night and it’s not all missionary cuddle-sex.”

“We are doing watersports!” Sherlock defended his love-life and immediately blushed.

Ray grinned from ear to ear. “Oh, nice! So you are adventurous! Go now, try it on; I’m dying to see these on you, and if you look just half as good as I expect, your guy’s cock will explode when he gets to see you wearing these.”

Sherlock grabbed the clothes and wordlessly stalked to the dressing room. Lucky followed him in an instant. “And put off your underwear first, it looks stupid when you keep it on!” he heard Ray’s voice before he slammed the door shut.

He looked down on the dog that was wagging his tail. “How did I get here, Lucky, how? What, you think I should do it? For Daddy? Alright then, let’s go.”

He undressed quickly in the surprisingly big, light room. There were mirrors on three walls and he proudly took a look at his naked butt. It had gotten even firmer and rounder from the training, and he loved it when Mycroft was stroking and licking it endlessly before he mounted him. Finally he stepped into the chaps, which was not as easy as it had looked. The sides of them were open and only held together by strings made of cloth, and he almost stumbled twice when his toes kept stuck in the holes. The chaps had a thin leather string on the otherwise open backside, and it felt pretty strange between his cheeks. At the front there was some sort of hard leather cup that stored his dick and balls pretty decently.

Getting into the waistcoat was an even more difficult task. There were two alternating lines of push buttons and in opposite to Ray’s description, they were rather difficult to open, and then it was almost impossible to close them without making holes into his chest and stomach, and he was sure that he would be covered in small, round marks once Mycroft would see him the next time.

Eventually he was finished and looked into the mirror. He almost gasped when he saw himself. A very sexy stranger was looking out of the mirror - a leather dream-come-true with ruffled, black hair, the muscles in his thighs perfectly accentuated by the slim chaps, and when he turned his head to look in the mirror behind him, he couldn’t help but admiring his round arse again, looking mysteriously sexy with the leather band between the cheeks.

“Holy shit!” Sherlock winced again when he heard Ray’s voice so close to his ear. He had not heard him entering even though he was built like a grizzly bear and wore heavy boots… “You look awesome, man, but I see you've discovered that yourself already.”

“I was just looking if I closed all these damn buttons correctly as they were pretty hard to handle!” Sherlock snapped, feeling embarrassed once more.

“And you did! It took you ages but you did!” Ray grinned and Sherlock couldn’t help but smiling back. “Don’t worry, they will work more easily when you practiced it some more. Your man will be on his knees and thank God for his beautiful lover when he sees you like that.”

“Has anyone ever told you that you could sell pictures to a blind man?”

Ray laughed. “You know, I didn’t push you to try them on because I desperately need your cash. In fact, this shop is only a hobby. I won the lottery ten years ago and still have most of the money. I may sound and look like a caricature of a gay man and probably a little stupid because I didn’t go to university, but I managed to invest my money safely. And I know people, and when I saw you staring at the stuff in the window, I just knew that you, number one, would need some encouragement and that you, number two, would look better than any porn star in this waistcoat. And boy, look at your arse. But wait, you’ve been doing that when I came in. And who would blame you, this arse could make any gay man’s cock singing  _ hallelujah _ .”

Sherlock had blushed stronger with every sentence that Ray had said. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to insult you and yes, I admired myself a little too much, but…”

Ray grabbed his arm. “I’m just teasing you, buddy, you did nothing to insult me, and I shouldn’t have come in without knocking, that’s bad manners. So, what do you think? Will your sweetheart like what he sees?”

Sherlock didn’t have to think about that. Of course Mycroft would. He would be shocked at first, but then he would be all over him. “Yes, I do think so. I will take both. Um, how much does it cost at all?” He figured that this worthy-looking waistcoat alone was probably worth more than he had brought to Edinburgh in cash, of course he had his credit card but…

“You know what, I’ve been keeping this waistcoat for months as I found nobody who deserved to wear it, I will give it to you for free. Just pay me fifty pounds for the chaps.”

“Oh no, I cannot accept this,” Sherlock protested, knowing that the chaps alone were much more expensive, but Ray smiled. “I liked you from the moment I saw you standing outside. And what you told me about this dog makes me like your man, too. So you definitely can accept it. Let me just help you taking the waistcoat off, I will have a look at the buttons as you say they are hard to open and close.”

Before Sherlock could say or do anything, he deftly opened the waistcoat with both hands, starting on Sherlock’s stomach. “It’s okay I think, I could perhaps…” He broke off and looked at Sherlock’s bare belly. “You have a tattoo, man, I tell you, I'd have never expected that. Hey, no need to blush again, it’s well done!”

“Thank you,” Sherlock stuttered, feeling totally uncomfortable, standing nearly naked in front of this dominant giant, who was actually not dressed much more than he was.

“His initials?” Ray asked while he was opening the rest of the buttons, testing each of them out before he went on to the next one.

Sherlock cleared his throat. “No, his and mine, the first names.”

“That’s cute. And it suits you. Does he have a matching one?” He helped Sherlock out of the waistcoat and put in on the chair right on Sherlock’s clothes.

“No, um, he would but he’s too hairy.”

Ray laughed. “Wow, somehow it’s getting warm in here. Oh, speaking of that.” He grabbed Sherlock’s waist with both hands and turned him around. “No need to take the chaps off for fucking; the front part has three push buttons on the belt, and the string has one, too, see.” He ripped off the stripe of leather that was covering Sherlock’s arse crack so Sherlock was standing in front of him completely naked from his waist up, wearing only the chaps that were covering most of his legs and keeping his genitals a secret, but his arse was exposed to Ray’s looks. And then the shop owner put one huge, warm hand right on a bare cheek, spread it apart from its twin with strong fingers and let his thumb slide over Sherlock’s hole expertly.

“So nice,” he said quietly and Sherlock almost fainted when he felt his cock getting hard instantly.

“What…” he stuttered and a moan escaped from his mouth when he felt two strong hands grabbing his waist and a very wet, very strong tongue was licking at and in his hole. “No, please…” But his fucking cock just got even harder and he could feel it lifting up the front of the chaps.

The tongue disappeared and Ray let him go and stood up. He turned him around again. “I’m sorry, really, I just couldn’t resist.” He looked down on Sherlock’s crotch. “God, I would love to suck you off and lick your hole out for hours. But your man would certainly kill me. So, you should rather get dressed and I shall leave you alone.”

Sherlock stood in the dressing room, feeling totally numb, and his head was spinning. Then Lucky yapped once, and he woke up from his trance and hurried to take off the chaps and get dressed. He left the room without the leather gear.

Ray was standing behind the desk and shook his head when he saw him. “Oh no, you won’t leave it here just because I couldn’t control myself. I’m very sorry, I shouldn’t have done that. Usually I don’t tend to rape my customers.”

Sherlock had stopped his pace, his throat feeling dry. “I got hard. I don’t know how…”

“Oh, sweetie, every gay man would get hard when I licked his hole. That’s just a natural reaction.”

“But I love him so much,” Sherlock whispered.

Ray came to him with long steps and grabbed his shoulders. “No, you won’t have a bad conscience because of my fucking mistake, and you will wear that for him and feel sexy, not guilty. Just forget what just happened.” He snapped his fingers. “So, it never happened. You did nothing wrong, boy, nothing at all. If you think it makes you feel better, just punch me.”

Sherlock slowly got his senses back. “Probably I would get hard even by that…”

Ray laughed. “I always thought I was pretty sexy, but I don’t think I’m that hot. Is he your first man?”

“Yes. How did you know?”

“Because a normal gay man fucks every available piece of male flesh. I should have known that you are not like that. My man and I screw around with everybody who lets us, no big deal. But it’s very sweet and very good that you two are only available for each other as I guess he’s like you.”

“But I still reacted to what you did.” Sherlock knew that he would never forgive himself for that.

“Of course you did. It was just a physical reaction. I know how to touch the right spots, believe me. I would have been very pissed off if you didn’t get hard.”

Sherlock sighed. “It was a mistake to even try this on. It looks good on me but I think it doesn’t fit my character.”

“No no, don’t say that. Of course the leather scene is very special. It is about free sex and drugs and fucking around. But when you wear it just for him, it’s much more intimate - it’s just roleplaying, a way of showing him a different side of your soul, a wilder side, but it’s still you. Come on, take it and put it on for him tonight, and if you two don’t feel comfortable with it, just bring it back tomorrow.”

“But I will have worn it then.”

“And I will spend hours with sniffing at it.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but laughing, and Ray grinned. “That’s much better. Take it. I guarantee you that he’s gonna love it. And sorry again. You are just so fucking beautiful that I couldn’t resist. He’s very lucky to have you. I bet he’d do anything for you.”

Sherlock swallowed hard. “Almost anything, yes. Alright, I will try it.”

“Great! Let me get it for you.” Ray hurried into the dressing room and put the clothes in a plain white bag and Sherlock paid him the money. “Have a really nice time!” Ray said with a big smile.

“I will. Thank you again. It was… an interesting experience to meet you.”

The shop owner laughed. “That was nicely put. And I can honestly say it that was very tasty to meet you.”

Sherlock raised his eyebrows and Ray made a step back. “Hands off, I know. And tongue off, too.” He grinned and winked and Sherlock offered him his hand. “Goodbye. And thanks for the clothes.”

Ray shook his hand. “It was my pleasure, believe me.”

Sherlock turned around to him in the door. “Don’t forget about the dog.”

“No way. Tomorrow I will go to the shelter. Thank you for the suggestion. You’re a really nice guy.”

And then Sherlock got out into the sunny day and decided to go straight back to the hotel and to stay there until Mycroft would ask him to come to the restaurant. He didn’t really have the courage to see more of Edinburgh on this day, at least not without him.

*****

“You should have seen the face of the Chief Constable when I explained why the MI5 could not inform them about the operation before. I thought he would explode every second.” Mycroft watched Sherlock while he was talking to him. His brother seemed to be rather absent, and he thought it hadn’t been such a good idea to ask Anthea to join their dinner. Mycroft had been very careful to not exclude Sherlock from their conversation. But perhaps hearing about a conference that was only held to soothe some more or less important Scottish people Sherlock knew nothing about, was not that exciting after all.

“Yes, but he was soothed so quickly when you told him how much his assistance was appreciated in the Nasiri-case,” Anthea added and sipped at her water.

“Indeed. How did you put it so nicely: three days of arse-licking and they will shut up,” he tried to cheer Sherlock up but his lover winced instead and his cheeks blushed so hard that Mycroft knew that he was glowing. He wondered why Sherlock reacted so strongly - did he think the expression would offend Anthea? But she had giggled, and he had kept his voice very quiet so nobody else could have heard it. Or was it the other connotation of that expression? But as Anthea didn’t know about their secret, what was the big deal?

He cleared his throat. “So how did you spend the day, Sherlock?”

Sherlock winced and stared at him. “Sorry, what?”

“I mean, did you do anything nice?”

“Oh, yes. Well, not really. The city is too crowded for my taste.”

“Yeah, the festival. Whose brilliant idea was it to let this conference take place this week?”

“The PM’s,” Anthea said laconically.

“Yes, of course. So what did you do then? Played with Lucky? Visit a museum?” He looked down to the dog that was quietly lying next to Sherlock’s chair. _Or did_ _you stay in the hotel room, fantasizing about what we will do tonight and now you’re disappointed that it takes me so long to go there with you? Or cried your eyes out because of my failures, because you are thinking that I’m letting you down again? What is wrong, Sherlock?_

“So how was the chat with your friend going?”  _ Please don’t ask what friend _ .

“Fine, he was very helpful,” Sherlock played along to his relief even though his tone was still strange to say the least.

“Oh, our dinner is coming,” Anthea announced and they all started to eat; Anthea was the only one who was devouring the fine meal with good appetite. Mycroft was feeling tense and nervous even though he should have been hungry. He hadn’t had time for a proper lunch, instead he had eaten a tasteless sandwich, drunk a bad coffee, and while listlessly eating this frugal meal, he had worked through the reports that he had received via email like on every day he worked in London, delegating the ones that required legwork to his staff, saving the reports he had to know about or to take care of for later use.

He knew that he had to finish everything during the day so he was free for Sherlock in the evening. It wouldn’t have made any sense to take Sherlock here and then work not only on the entire day (which he had to) but also in the evenings. Sherlock would not be pleased about that and with good reason. The only exception would be the third day when he was expected to attend a dinner party. But Sherlock was aware of that, and Mycroft would leave it very early, and they would hook up during the day. He had only agreed on going there because it allowed him to stay another night. Of course, now that Sherlock could be in his house whenever he wanted, it was not really necessary, but he had not known that when the conference had been planned. And at home he didn’t have a waterbed. Not yet at least… They had not tried it out but he was pretty sure that it would be an exciting experience.

“So what are your plans for the evening?” Mycroft asked his PA when they were finished.

“I will attend the festival, I have a ticket for the Maniac Manglers who are playing at Surgeon’s Hall. I will be busy tomorrow evening, too, don’t worry about me.”

Mycroft wondered why she had said that. It was not that he had expected her to spend all evening with her boss and his moody brother. But he was glad that she had plans for her leisure time so he could be alone with Sherlock as long as possible, which would hopefully change his mood quite a bit. And she would not stay the third night but fly back to London after finishing the meetings.

Mycroft paid the bill and then they left and the Holmes brothers bid Anthea goodbye outside the restaurant. “Will you tell me now what’s going on, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked him as soon as they had started walking to the hotel.

“Nothing, really, everything is fine.” His tone was neutral and he looked down at Lucky, who was sniffing around, completely excited about all those foreign smells.

“Please, I may not be able to read your mind right now but I do know that this is a lie.” It hurt him that Sherlock refused to tell him what was weighing on his soul. He had thought they had left that stage behind them, but probably Sherlock felt rejected by him due to his refusal to leave England together, a subject that he didn’t even want to think about.

“It’s not, really. I’m just nervous because of the surprise.”

“Oh, yes.” Of course, that was an explanation. “So you are still not telling me what it is about?”

Sherlock finally smiled at him and his heart was feeling lighter at once. “No. But I’ll need a couple of minutes alone in my room before you'll come over.”

“No problem, I will take a shower first and shave so I’m smelling fresh and lovely for you.”

“You always smell fresh and lovely to me. You even would if you had spent the night in a bin.”

“I don’t tend to do that. That's just too uncomfortable.”

They had reached the hotel and took the elevator to their floor. When they stopped before Mycroft’s room, Sherlock pressed his hand quickly.

“I will text you when you can come over, alright? And don’t stress yourself, if you need more time, I can wait for a minute or two.”

“I’ll make sure to get ready very quickly,” Mycroft assured him.

He watched Sherlock go over to his own room with the dog, and then he hurried inside his one to get prepared for their night together.

*****

“Okay, what do you think? Are the buttons all closed? Is everything in its place?” Lucky yapped and Sherlock thought it should be fine. Unfortunately there was no mirror in his posh hotel room that was big enough to see his entire body, and he had to turn his head until his neck hurt to have a look at his backside. But his outfit felt right and he was shivering from anticipation how Mycroft would react to it.

He knew that he had behaved more than suspiciously during their dinner with the PA. He had caught Mycroft’s concerned gaze more than once. But he had still struggled with the feeling of guilt that had accompanied him since his cock had stiffened because of another man’s touches and licks. He knew that it was stupid to feel guilty because of something somebody else had done to him against his will. And Sherlock was really intelligent enough to understand that even though his body would have loved to get even more attention from this enormously attractive bombshell of a man, who definitely knew what to do with his hands and tongue, his soul was and would always be faithful to Mycroft, and it was much stronger than his body. And there was no need for fulfilling any physical needs with someone else anyway. He was sure that Mycroft would take care of them with pleasure, anytime and especially tonight. He knew all this, and he still felt guilty. But he needed to shake it off now. He needed Mycie.

After grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he sat down on his bed, and it was pretty strange to be fully clothed and still feel the fabric of the linen under his bare bottom. The string was in its place but Sherlock thought it would probably not stay there for too long. He reached down to tickle Lucky’s head and then sent an inviting text to his lover.

_ Alright, I’m ready when you are. I will be in the bathroom when you come in, so please sit down on the bed and wait for me. SH _

_ Man, you are really having me by the balls now. I’m ready and coming over right now. MH _

Sherlock smiled and hurried into the bathroom, leaving Lucky lying in front of the bed. He had showered and shaved before going to dinner to wash off every trace of the stranger’s touch of his body, and he was feeling fresh and clean and horny. And well, guilty…

He heard the door being opened up - Mycroft had made sure that they had key cards for each other’s rooms when they had checked in - and getting shut, and he heard Mycroft say:

“Hey Lucky, all alone here? Come on my lap, Mummy lets us wait. Tell me, what should I expect?”

Sherlock grinned. It was really good that Lucky couldn’t talk (even though he seemed to understand everything they said) and spoil the surprise. Of course, if he was able to talk, he could have told Mycroft what had happened earlier. His grin disappeared and he swore to himself that he would forget that now.

He straightened his back and opened the door. Mycroft was sitting on the bed in a blue t-shirt and jeans, turning his back to him, and he had Lucky on his lap. The dog barked once when he saw Sherlock coming out of the bathroom.

“So, he’s there? Well, then you'll have to go down. Let’s see what…” Mycroft turned around to Sherlock and broke off. His beautiful, light-blue eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He didn’t say a word and Sherlock felt uncomfortable all at once. What if Mycroft didn’t like his unusual outfit? What if he thought that it was vulgar and ugly and a total turn-off?

“Dear God, Sherlock, is that really you?” He stood up from the bed with very slow movements and then stayed where he was, staring at him disbelievingly.

“Yes, it’s me,” Sherlock said, feeling shy and insecure, and he knew damn well that was not the right way to feel in such an outfit. But he had been right when he had told Ray that with his personality, he was not meant to dress up like a tough, rough leather bear. All at once he felt completely stupid and opened his mouth to tell Mycroft that he would immediately change his clothes when his lover finally started walking towards him.

“God, you look so fucking hot,” he said hoarsely, his eyes were dark with desire, his tongue licking over his bottom lip.

And Sherlock felt fabulous all at once and wondered why he hadn’t been able to deduce his lover before. But he had appraised Mycroft’s reaction correctly when he had tried the clothes on; he did like to see him dressed up like that, and he wanted him. And then he was pulled in a wild embrace and his mouth was taken by Mycroft’s eager lips and tongue, and he kissed him back, guiding him back to the bed, and they fell on the soft, elastic surface, Sherlock on top of  his lover, feeling his big hands on his bare arse cheeks, fingering at the leather string, one of his fingers sliding under it, right on Sherlock’s hole that was stuffed with the red plug he had also found in the bag with the clothes, complete with a small bottle of lube. He had no idea how Ray had smuggled them into the bag without him noticing, but it had made him smile broadly when he had found it fifteen minutes ago.

“What’s that, Sherlock, have you started without me?” Mycroft whispered and rattled on the plug with two fingers.

“No, I just made sure that I’m open and ready for your cock,” Sherlock whispered back. He moaned when Mycroft carefully removed the plug and replaced it with two fingers that found his prostate at once. He got hard as a rock in an instant and started rubbing his erection on Mycroft’s right leg. But Mycroft rolled them over so Sherlock found himself lying on his back, and he realised that Mycroft wanted to watch him, to eat him with his eyes first. He spread his arms above his head and allowed Mycroft to admire his body in the naughty leather clothing.

“You look so amazingly sexy,” Mycroft purred. His long fingers examined the buttons of the waistcoat.

“You can take it off,” Sherlock encouraged him. “Just pull on them, but you need to pull pretty hard; they don’t open so easily.”

Mycroft got on his knees, sitting back on his feet between Sherlock’s spread legs, and started opening the waistcoat, button after button, with both hands. When the piece of clothing fell open, he leaned forward and kissed Sherlock’s throat, let his tongue slide down to his left nipple and licked in circles around it, and sucked it into his mouth while his hand was rubbing Sherlock’s hard dick through the thick leather chaps.

After licking traces down to Sherlock’s stomach, he bit his cock through the leather, and shoved his hand under the chaps to stroke it.

“Leave it alone for now,” Sherlock asked him, and then turned around on his stomach and got on hands and knees, presenting Mycroft his almost naked arse.

Mycroft gasped and was all over him in a second, with low moans he started licking his cheeks, kissing them and finally biting them. He tried to get his tongue under the string but then he appeared to try to open the chaps.

“Don’t, just take off the string, it has a push button, too.” And then his arse was free of any cover, and Mycroft buried his face into the exposed crack at once, his tongue licking eagerly at his hole. And now it was Sherlock’s turn to moan, he was just dying to be caressed in his most intimate spot, he was dying to feel Mycroft’s tongue in it. “Lick me out, Mycie,” he begged, and bent his head in pleasure when Mycroft did his best to do exactly that while his big hands were sliding over Sherlock’s still clothed thighs and massaged his buttocks. Sherlock only broke the contact to straighten up to get rid of the waistcoat so Mycroft could let his hands slide over his back as well.

“What’s this taste?” Mycroft asked him at once, his breath hot on his arse.

“What taste?” Sherlock asked, feeling embarrassed all at once.  _ My God _ …

“Is that strawberry? Or raspberry?” Mycroft licked again over his hole. “Strawberry I bet.”

And Sherlock finally understood that he was talking about the lube. He had prepared his hole in the bathroom and had left the bottle there, not even bothering to really look at or smell it, he had only noticed that it was very thick. So he had no idea which flavour it was, but it made him smile that the shop owner had chosen a tasty sort of lube to please his partner who was allowed to do to Sherlock what he couldn’t do. He was quite sure that Ray had not chosen it because he thought that Sherlock tasted bad; he had appeared to enjoy licking him without any improvement. And Sherlock didn’t doubt that Mycroft did, too.

“Not that this was necessary,” Mycroft assured him between licks as if he had read his mind. “You taste so wonderful without any extra flavour. I could spend hours with just licking you.”

Sherlock smiled again but then he turned around and pinned Mycroft on the bed. “I love how you do that, but there’s no way that you'll spoil me like that and I won’t get to touch you.” He kissed him passionately, tasting the flavour of the lube ( _ yes, strawberry _ ) and himself on Mycroft’s lips and tongue.

“You know I would be happy to just do that, especially tonight,” Mycroft said and gently touched his face. “You are looking so fucking hot just in case I haven’t mentioned, you put so much effort in pleasing me, and for me caressing you is the best aphrodisiacal I can imagine. I love to lick you and suck you and I would come just by doing that.”

“Well, then we'll have a problem,” Sherlock whispered. “Because I love to do that to you the same way. I love your beautiful body and your taste and your nipples and your monstrous dick and your hairy arse.”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “Oh honey, you know how to make compliments. Alright, go on, do with me what you want. My body is all yours.”

“And what about your heart? And your soul?”

Mycroft smiled and pulled his head close to kiss him. “Sherlock, they have been yours for twenty years, and they’ll always be. I love you, I love you so fucking much.”

“I love you, too, Mycie. But now it’s time to take care of your dick.”

“My monstrous, hard, sexy dick.”

“Exactly.” Sherlock concentrated on Mycroft’s jeans, they didn’t have a zipper but five buttons he carefully opened, and then he freed said dick that was nicely hard and wet already. He just dipped the tip of his tongue into the slit and licked up the salty drop that was waiting for him, and then he licked down on the hard shaft, letting his tongue dance on it, and he bent his neck so he could take it all and lick on the base of his ballsack once it was filling up his throat completely.

“God, Sherlock, that’s so good.”

Sherlock couldn’t answer as he was nearly choking, and he slowly let it slide out of his mouth again, his spit was running down the shaft into Mycroft’s black pubes and onto his balls and he caught it with his hand. “Shall I possibly do that again?” he teased Mycroft, who nodded enthusiastically. He smiled and then repeated the deep throating with pleasure, listening to Mycroft’s low moans.

“I want to take you now, Sherlock, please, let me fuck you now.”

Sherlock didn’t need any more encouragement. He set his own cock free by putting the front part of the chaps off and got on all fours again, and then Mycroft was holding onto the belt of the chaps and let his huge, wet cock slide into him carefully. Sherlock cried out when he settled in him completely, and moved his hips back to urge him to ride him hard, and Mycroft did. It was a strange feeling to be taken on a waterbed that was bringing its own movements into their hard encounter.

Sherlock felt that he was getting close to his climax when Mycroft wrapped one arm around his waist and pulled him backwards, and he found himself sitting on him, pinned on his dick, facing away from him. He leaned on his hands and now he was riding Mycroft, the bed making them both bouncing every time he was going down. Mycroft had grabbed his cock with one hand and was masturbating it roughly, and Sherlock was more excited than ever before.

He screamed loudly when his seed shot out of his cock all over the bed and he immediately got away from Mycroft and lay down on his back, staring into Mycroft’s puzzled-looking face. “Come in my mouth, please, I want it,” he hissed and saw Mycroft smile. His man started beating off and then a noise that was much more a growl than it was a moan escaped from his lips, and he dipped his purple cock in Sherlock’s open mouth and then flooded it with thick and hot streams of cum, and Sherlock swallowed it all and kept sucking at his member until there was no more drop to get out of it.

Sherlock embraced his lover when he collapsed on his chest. “That was so… good,” Mycroft stated with an apparently thick tongue.

Sherlock smiled. “Just good?”

“Can’t think now. No words.”

“Wow, that’s a really bad sign. You without words? England  _ will _ fall.”

“No bad sign. Best sign ever,” Mycroft mumbled and Sherlock gently fingered on his right ear and smiled happily.

“Any chance that you'd wear it for me, too?”

“Huh?”

“The leather gear, Mycie. You would look so great in it. And then I will make pictures of you in it and send them to Lady Smallwood and the PM.”

“Don’t you dare. ‘s just for you,” Mycroft protested and rubbed his face against Sherlock’s throat, his hand was stroking his belly, right over the tattoo.

“So you would wear it for me?” Sherlock was surprised. “If I don’t do pictures?”

“You can do pictures, as many as you want, just don’t show them to anybody.” Mycroft sounded rather sleepy, but he was building sentences again at least.

“You would do it?” Sherlock insisted.

“Of course I would, and I will. Not sure that they'll fit me but I think the chaps can be made tighter on the legs and perhaps wider on the stomach. We’ll see.”

“God, you will look so awesome in that!” Sherlock said, still disbelievingly.

“I don’t know why you are so surprised.” Mycroft finally lifted his head and looked into his eyes. “If you want to see me in that hot stuff, of course I will wear it for you. Whether it will look nearly as good on my hairy body as it does on you is another question. If you want and the store is open in the late afternoon, we can go there together and find something for me if your fancy clothes don’t fit me.”

Sherlock felt his cheeks blush. “Well, we could do that when we are back in London. I’m sure that there are many sex shops, we don’t have to go into one in the city.”

“Something happened there today, right?” Mycroft asked and Sherlock closed his eyes. “That’s why you behaved so strangely during dinner.”

Sherlock sighed deeply. “Yes.”

“So what exactly did happen?” Mycroft was now resting on his elbow, looking at him inquiringly. “Did you tell the guy who you are and said you wanted to look sexy for your brother with whom you are in a relationship?”

“No! Of course not! He has no idea who I am, let alone who you are. He did see the tattoo though, but it’s just two letters, isn’t it.”

“Agreed, even though you said nobody would ever see it. But given what you have bought, I’m not that surprised as it really reveals everything. But back to our subject, you didn’t tell him your name, he didn’t recognise you, so what happened? It can’t have been so bad then?”

“He licked my arsehole!” It was out before Sherlock could even think about it. “He helped me getting out of the waistcoat to check the buttons because they were not opening well. And then he turned me around and showed me how to remove the string so you could fuck me while I'm still wearing the chaps. And then he got on his knees and put his tongue into my arse, just for five seconds, but I got hard and I feel so bad about it.”

Mycroft looked at him speechlessly for almost half a minute, and Sherlock felt more desperate with every second. Why the fuck did he always have to tell Mycroft everything? He had almost forgotten the incident! Well, not exactly forgotten but… Why didn’t he tell him something completely different? Whatever, just not the fucking truth! And now?

“So,” Mycroft finally started, “you are telling me that you went into a sex shop, and the owner, probably some sort of hot leather man himself, gave you these clothes to try them on, and then he took advantage and, what, licked your arsehole, and your dick got hard?”

“Yes, I was so shocked in the first seconds, but then I told him to stop and he did and apologised and… God, I’m so sorry, Mycie.” He felt tears appearing in his eyes, and then he was pulled into a tight embrace and soft lips were pressed on his forehead.

“Oh baby, my poor, silly little Sherlock, alone in a strange city, being almost raped by a big, bad leather gay.”

“What? Silly? Yes, I am. But that sounds worse than it was, he was very nice actually and…”

“Sherlock, look at me! This story is so crazy that nobody except me would believe it.”

Sherlock pulled back so he could look into his eyes. “And I would never tell it to anybody else!”

“Of course you wouldn’t. Sherlock, you are just the cutest thing on earth and you are also the hottest man on earth, and who should know better than I do how irresistible and sexy you are. He saw you in this outfit and he probably fell for you in the same second he did, and he couldn’t control his desires. And I bet he knew exactly what he was doing, right? With his profession he must be a very experienced man.”

“Yes. He said he and his lover would fuck anybody they could.”

“So he definitely knew how to please you, and your body reacted to it. Of course it did, you are young, you are healthy and you love to be touched and licked.”

“But only from you! I want you and nobody else!”

“See, Sherlock, that’s why this is no problem at all.”

Sherlock couldn’t believe his ears. “You… are not mad at me?”

“Oh honey, why should I! It’s not that you asked him to lick your hole, instead you asked him to stop, and he did and said he was sorry. So I don’t even have a problem with him.”

“You are not… jealous?”

“I am in a way, I’m jealous of everybody who is just allowed to see you or talk to you. I don’t like the image of a supposedly good-looking, hot guy who touched something that should be only available for me, let alone with his tongue. But really, Sherlock, it’s fine. But what is a lot less fine is…”

“…that I didn’t tell you right away,” Sherlock finished his sentence before he could, feeling guilty once more, just for a different reason. And that he had not so long ago thought that he should have lied to his lover, did not make him feel any better.

“Well, you couldn’t as Anthea was there with us, and I would really appreciate if you didn’t talk about such matters in front of her. But when I asked you what was wrong on our way here, you still didn’t. Sherlock, when will you finally completely trust me?” He sounded really desperate and it broke Sherlock’s heart.

“I do trust you! But, if you told me that another guy had stuck his tongue into your hole, I would go crazy! I would run to him and kill him!”

Mycroft smiled. “That thought had crossed my mind as well, but only for a second. Listen honey, I don’t say you had to tell me everything, everybody has some secrets, even from the one they love. But something like that, something you feel bad about, that is eating at you -  no pun intended - or something of importance to our future, you have to tell me. Because it will help you to talk about it. You did tell me that Oscar knows about us, and that’s good, I need to know such things for sure, but now again you wanted to keep something from me that made you feel unhappy, and please, Sherlock, don’t do that to me. I want to be your confidant in everything important, and how you feel is the most important thing to me. Do you understand that?”

Sherlock threw himself on him again and buried his face into the fuzzy chest hair, enjoying the embrace he was immediately graced with. “Yes,” he mumbled into the hair. “I do. And I promise I will not do it again.”

“Right so my love. When the next guy has licked your hole, just tell me and it’s fine.”

Sherlock turned his head so he could look into his eyes without getting up, even though it was from a difficult angle. “There will be no next time!”

Mycroft chuckled. “I should hope so. What do you think, should I order some food for us? We both didn’t eat much for dinner. Well, you had some dessert but I didn’t.”

It took Sherlock a moment to get what he meant. “Mine is still on the linen, Mycie, you can always lick it up!”

Mycroft gave him a playful slap on the shoulder. “You pervert!”

Sherlock felt stupidly happy. “Perverse and proud of it. But food sounds good. We'll need to get some strength for the night.”

Mycroft was grabbing for the hotel phone already. “We surely will. There’s one more arse that wants to be licked and taken.”

“Lucky, I had no idea!” He pointedly looked over to the dog that was lying on the little blanket that Sherlock had brought for him, chewing on a toy, and he wagged his tail when he heard Sherlock talk to him.

“Sherlock, you  _ are _ a pervert!”

He grinned. “I love you, Mycie.”

“I love you, Sherlock, forever. And now be silent for a moment while I’m getting us a decent meal.”


	21. Chapter 21- the second day in Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The second day of their trip...and some unwelcome guests...

Sherlock knew that he should be totally bored. He was alone in the hotel room once more after Mycroft had kissed him passionately goodbye to spend another day with completely uninteresting stuff and people he’d never wanted to meet, just to please the PM. And so Sherlock was left to himself (and Lucky of course), having nothing to do, not even the least interesting case to solve. And he realised that he felt great. He didn’t have to listen to dull stories from dull people, solving mysteries that had no meaning in any greater scheme, let alone to him; there was no John who bothered him with either stupid attempts on being together or telling him about his new girlfriend and then shut up with wide eyes, figuring that he was hurting Sherlock’s feelings with that. There was no reason to pretend to feel anything that he didn’t. And it was like total freedom for him, and if he had not known that already, it would have become clear to him now that the days of hunting for the next thrill were over and they wouldn’t come back.

Of course he knew that even if he could stop being the clever detective without raising suspicion, he could not spend the rest of his life waiting for Mycroft to finish work to take care of him. His brain would need to work a little bit eventually. But for now he was very happy to just live for the moment, knowing that he would be allowed to spend the evening and night with his man, and be free to do what he wanted until then, even if it was only lying around and doing nothing.

And then Lucky barked, and he smiled. Of course he couldn’t stay in this bed the entire day. Lucky needed to go outside, and not only for doing his business; he wanted to run around and discover the world.

“Alright then, let me get showered and dressed and then we'll go outside.”

“Woof!”

“Just give me five minutes!”

Even though he skipped shaving (he would do that before meeting Mycroft in the evening, there was no need to look smooth and nice for anybody else), it took him a little bit longer, but then he was ready and they left the hotel to see some more of Edinburgh. Sherlock decided to walk in the opposite direction than he had taken the day before and keep away from any dubious shops, although he felt so much lighter about what had happened with Ray now that he knew that Mycroft wasn’t bothered by it. He was completely taken by his wisdom and understanding, and if that had been possible, he would have loved him even more now than he had done before.

He took a look at the famous Edinburgh Castle but decided rather quickly that it didn’t interest him. It was a huge, old building and that was it. He fought his way through the supposedly thousands of people that were looking at it, too, Lucky on his arms, pressed safely against his chest, and walked away. He was wearing sunglasses and a baseball cap, just to be sure to not be recognised by anyone, but nobody seemed to pay attention to him anyway. The people around had only eyes for the buildings, the street artists that were everywhere, and the cafés and restaurants on the way.

As the crowd didn’t seem to end, he consulted his phone to find a park where he could go with Lucky to get rid of the annoying people around him. He took the tram to go to Inverleith Park where he hoped to find a quiet corner to play with his dog. They had to walk a pretty long way to find a rather deserted part, and as soon as he had thrown the ball, Lucky ran after it with joy. Sherlock sat down on a bench and took the sunglasses off. It was indeed a sunny, pretty warm day for this cold city, and he was enjoying the light and warmth on his face. Lucky didn’t get tired bringing him the ball, waiting for him to throw it again with sparkling eyes, and Sherlock felt an almost overwhelming love for the little guy.

“Nice dog!”

Sherlock winced when he heard the voice right after throwing the ball. He turned his head and saw an old woman sitting on the bench, a metre away from him. He had neither heard nor seen her coming.

“Thank you,” he said politely. And carefully. She looked as if she was a hundred years old, her hair was black with thick white stripes, her face completely wrinkled, her teeth almost black, but her light-green eyes were very lively and full of intelligence. She was wearing black training trousers and a red shirt with ruffles around the collar and had old and damaged sneakers on her feet and a torn, green scarf around her thin neck. She looked like a homeless, crazy woman.

Lucky came back with the ball and looked at the old woman, then he wagged his tail and sniffed at the hand that she was offering to him. Then he turned to Sherlock again, and he felt relieved. It was stupid maybe but he trusted the dog’s judgement. If Lucky thought that she was okay, then she was okay. Probably crazy, but okay. He threw the ball again and Lucky disappeared in a small cloud of dust.

“You didn’t buy him, and you didn’t find him,” the old woman startled him again. Her voice was very deep and dreamy and it appeared to come from far away.

“Sorry what?” He looked into her eyes and felt the strange charisma that seemed to surround her. There was something in these eyes, something deep and knowing.  _ Bullshit! _

“He came to you unplanned, but he was not a stray.” It was not a question.

How the hell did she know that? “No, he was taken away from his owner who had abused him on the street.” He was telling that story now to a stranger for the second time in about twenty-four hours.

She nodded thoughtfully. “That saved him. He would have been dead three days later.”

Sherlock froze all at once, he could feel goose bumps appearing on his arms. Perhaps it was just the cold wind; the sun had disappeared all at once. “I should go now, it was nice to meet you.” He stood up.

“You are a stranger in this city, but you are not a tourist. The people are bothering you,” she continued as if he hadn’t said anything.

Very slowly he sat down again even though he didn’t know why. Something in her voice was strangely irresistible. Lucky had come back and sat next to his feet, apparently tired of playing ball, and he looked at the old woman with curious eyes.

“Give me your hand,” she demanded.

“My hand? Why? Who are you? What are you? Are you… a gypsy?”

“You can call me a gypsy, or a crazy, old woman, or whatever you like. Give me your hand now.”

“You want to predict my future?” Sherlock grinned and shook his head. “Shouldn’t you be wearing big golden earrings and a bandana then? I’m sorry, but I don’t believe in such things. I believe in science, not in hocus-pocus.”

“You are a very smart man, but for some time now you have been driven by emotion, not intellect. And that’s good, it has made you a better person. And it doesn’t matter if you believe in it. I know that it’s real.”

“And what do you want for your predictions?” Sherlock wondered what Mycroft would think about this conversation. Probably he would ask him to stay out of the sun in future.

“I don’t want anything. I came to this park to think, to learn, to receive.”

“Receive what?”  _ Money from idiots who believe in fortune telling? _

“Guidance. Wisdom. But then something guided me right here, to this bench, to you. Give me your hand. I won’t bite in it.”

Sherlock couldn’t help but chuckle. Hadn’t his last conversation with a stranger begun with a very similar statement? And how had it ended? Well, this one wouldn’t end with hole-licking, so much was sure… He sighed and offered her his left hand. “Alright, tell me that I will get rich and famous and meet a tall, dark and handsome man.”

Her wrinkled, bony fingers took his hand surprisingly gently. She looked at his palm and touched it with the tip of her forefinger. It tickled him and Sherlock felt the urge to rip his hand out of hers, but he realised that he couldn’t move.

“Yes, exactly. Not famous, you already are, but the tall, dark and handsome man will come, and he will bring the riches.”

“Yeah, right.” He wouldn’t call himself  _ famous _ , and he had met this man already, hadn’t he? It was a perfect description of Mycroft, even though he was not exactly rich. She couldn’t be talking about Ray, could she…? No, he would never meet him again, and even if he did, Ray  _ was _ rich as he had said, but he wouldn’t give money to Sherlock. For what? And why the hell was he thinking about this crap at all?!

“You will do something for him, something very important, something bad, but nobody will know about that.”

“Oh really? And then he will make me rich? Because he is so grateful?”

“Yes, just like that. And it will change your life forever. I cannot see how exactly, but it will be a big change. But there is more to see, much more.”

“I can’t wait to hear it.”

She looked up from his hand and smiled at him, exposing her rotten teeth. “You are a very good man. Most people don’t like you, but you are special. I don’t mind your sarcasm. I’m here to help you, to help you through the bad times that are coming.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Bad times? And sorry for my, you know, sarcasm. It’s just that this is totally crazy, and since I’ve come to this town, only crazy things have happened to me. But, bad times?” He knew that he should just shut up and leave. But really, a fortune teller that predicted bad times? Wasn’t that against the law?

She smiled again and turned her head to concentrate on his hand. “Bad times, yes. I see pain and loss and fear, not only for you, but for someone who is very close to you.”

“That sounds great! And what about helping me through these times? How should you do that?” Why was he asking that at all?

“Because I can see they are not there to stay. After the darkness there will be light. And to let you know that, that’s my way to help you.”

Could it be any more vague? Sherlock shook his head again.

“A man that was close to you once will disappear from your life. You will still see him but it won’t be the same.”

Oh, that was cheerful! And why did he have to think of Mycroft again?

“And there’s a woman, a woman who will bring danger.”

He couldn’t help but rolling his eyes. Alright then, that was it. There was no woman in his life except for Martha Hudson, and she would definitely not cause them any danger. The perfect Kelly perhaps? No, why would she? If he was lucky, he would never even meet her.

“It’s not clear, you know. I don’t see stories happening, just pictures, they come up and they go, and I cannot keep them to have a proper look at them. They are just glimpses of the future. And they will happen, everything I said will happen. I don’t know the order of the events, only that it will be all good in the end as the light is very strong.” She sounded a little pissed off, but hey, Sherlock had not asked her to read his hand, had he?

“Alright, so what else do you see?” Sherlock asked. “So far we have a wealthy man with a big problem that I'll solve, and he will make me rich.” He stopped when he realised that this sounded at least a little bit reasonable, given his profession. But none of his clients had ever longed for making him rich… Well, there was someone who had offered him to make him rich: Oscar. Could she mean him? Bullshit, that had already happened. It had been a lucky guess, that was all. “Then we have bad times for me and somebody else, but they will go by and we’ll see the light. We have a dangerous woman, whoever that is supposed to be. Oh, and a man I am close to will turn his back on me.” He felt bad by even saying this, as stupid as it was. Just thinking of losing Mycroft had to make him feel bad of course, if it was predicted by an old witch or not.

“Okay, I will tell you what else I see, if you believe me or not. You don’t have to, you know. But perhaps one day you will realise how true it was.”

“I have a very good memory,” Sherlock assured her. “I will not forget anything you tell me.”

“That’s good! So, I see… a wedding, and… a baby will be on the way.”

Sherlock laughed. “Wow, that is really  _ very _ improbable.” Perhaps she was talking about John though.  _ Nah _ . She was just guessing and not even able to see that he was gay.

She grimaced. “Listen, boy! I see jealousy and betrayal, and so much sadness. And wrath. Such strong wrath. I think that’s it.”

“That’s it? You saw only almost every possible emotion and development!”

“That is because so much will happen. Perhaps even more. But all of this will happen.”

Sherlock sighed. “Alright, if you say so. It was a huge pleasure to meet you and it was very entertaining, but I will go now. I wish you a very nice day.” He finally stood up and Lucky did at once, too.

“There are two more things I saw,” she held him back when he started to walk away.

Against his will he stopped and turned around. “And what’s that?”

“I saw death,” she said in a very earnest tone.

Sherlock cringed. She was really a cheerful fortune teller. “Great. Death? For whom?”

“I don’t know. It could be you. It could be the one.”

“The one?” Why was his voice trembling now?

“That was the second thing I saw. It was love. So much love. You are in love with a man, and he loves you so much that it is overpowering everything. He’s the light in your life.”

Sherlock stared at her, banned.

“And he will stay in your life forever. This love is stronger than anything else. The light it brings is stronger than death.”

The goose bumps were back and Sherlock turned his head to not let her see his eyes because they were filling with tears from the strong emotions he was suddenly feeling. All at once the sun was shining again with full force and he shadowed his eyes. And turned back to her to ask her if she could tell him more about the death part and how Mycroft’s love would be overpowering it. But the bench was empty.

“Where did she go?” he asked Lucky, who was looking up to him with his vivid eyes. Sherlock stood there for several minutes, not able to move until Lucky started pulling at his trousers. “Alright, we will go back now.” He hurried to leave this creepy park and return to the hotel. This city was driving him mad. It was not safe to be outside.

He bought a sandwich for lunch and ate it in his room while Lucky was getting some dog food and biscuits. After that he went to the hotel’s own gym and powered himself out for almost three hours. He needed to be distracted from this disturbing morning. He didn’t even bother showering but just went to his room to take Lucky and jog around the block to get even more exhausted and give Lucky some more training as well after having to wait for him alone in the room for so long. And Sherlock just ran, not looking at anyone, not talking to anyone. On his way back he became suddenly very hungry and got himself some French Fries, and he felt a lot better after devouring it. And he knew that he would be happy to be back in boring, normal London.

*****

“I’ll be in the hotel in about half an hour, everything is finished for today,” Mycroft told Sherlock on the phone. He was standing outside the conference centre; Anthea had just left to attend a comedy show, and he was only waiting for the Chief Constable, who had insisted on having some files copied for him that should show him how much more efficient the Scottish police was working than New Scotland Yard and the MI5 together.

“That’s great, I didn’t expect you to get out so early,” Sherlock said, and he sounded pretty happy.

“Me neither. The meetings went surprisingly smoothly today. Tomorrow I'll have to go to that dinner party at the CC, but only for a short time. We will meet up for lunch and spend the afternoon together as we agreed and I won’t be away in the evening for long.” Mycroft didn’t like to leave Sherlock alone but that had been clear from the start.

“No worries, honey. We will still have the night. And this night of course.”

“Yes, I can’t wait to see you. Would you like to go out for dinner or shall I bring something for us? Or shall we order something from the room service again? I’m open to any suggestion.”

“Bring something small for me, I’m not that hungry; I ate something after doing some training only two hours ago,” Sherlock replied.

“Alright, so I will bring a lot for me and very little for you. Probably you’ll end up eating my stuff, too, then.”

“Mycie, all I want to eat is your cock, and your arse of course. Just make sure you'll bring both.”

“I shall not forget them. I will head to my room and store the stuff the CC is just collecting for me, and take a shower and slip into something more comfortable, and then I’ll come over. Anthea has already gone to the festival. And then you can tell me how your day was, hopefully a little less exciting.”

“Well, it had its interesting parts for sure. I will tell you later. And then you can slip into me!”

Mycroft ended the call with a smile and stored his phone in his coat pocket. He had to wait ten more minutes until the policeman finally arrived to hand him the files. “Oh, thank you,” he said with forced enthusiasm.

“Shall I explain everything to you again? It’s very important that…”

“No, it’s alright, I memorized everything you told me.”

“Yes, I forgot about your computer brain. Well then, have a good day.”

“You too. See you tomorrow for the final meeting.”

Mycroft stored the files in his briefcase which was not that easy as he had to balance it on his knee. But eventually he had fumbled them in and turned to go to the hotel.

“Mycroft, what a surprise!”

He knew that he had to look if a grenade had detonated right in front of his feet. But he couldn’t help it as this was simply not possible. “Lady Smallwood,” he croaked. “What are you doing in Edinburgh?”

“Oh, I’m here for a long weekend, my parents and some other relatives live here, and there is a big family event happening in October, and I need to find a hotel for all the guests.” She wore a rather short, red dress and her makeup was perfect. Only the strong wind that was tousling her hair and blew it into her face seemed to make her feel a little uncomfortable.

“I see.” And she had to do this exactly on this day? When he was here, too? And did anyone search for a hotel by flying to the respective city and do what, inspect them personally?

“Where are you staying?” She made another step towards him and looked at him innocently.

“The King of Scotland.” And now he finally realised.

“Oh, that was on my list. Please, show me your room so I'll get a picture.”

Mycroft felt like he wouldn’t be able to move at all. She wanted to come to his hotel room. To see the interior? Certainly not. But what could he do? It was clear that he was finished for the day and if he told her that he needed to go somewhere, she would insist on accompanying him. And he would be late for his date with Sherlock. Better to get it over with as fast as possible. But… “Alright, you can have a quick look,” he said, hoping she would get it, but he did not get his hopes up too high. “I'll just have to send a text first.” He fumbled his phone out again.

“Oh, don’t hurry, I have all the time in the world.”

_ I bet you do… but I don’t.  _ He cursed the fact that Anthea had already left to attend the festival. She would have saved him by offering the lady to show her her own room.

_ Sherlock, I will come later. Lady Smallwood has hunted me down, and I'll have to show her my hotel room… Don’t ask. I will get rid of her as soon as I can and then I'll come to you. I love you. MH _

“Can we go?” she asked with a seductive smile when he had put his phone back into his coat.

“Yes,” he said through gritted teeth.  _ But don’t expect anything... _

*****

“So, we will wait for Daddy here. I love to watch him shower and shave and he won’t have to bother changing clothes,” he explained to Lucky after entering his lover’s room right after talking to Mycroft, glad that he had the key card for it. “He wouldn’t wear them too long anyway.” Sherlock himself wore a casual shirt and jog pants, the pockets were rather small but he had succeeded in storing his flat phone in them just in case Mycroft would want to reach him again.

Lucky barked and he smiled. “Yes, I miss him too. But soon he’ll come, in less than half an hour, so be patient. And then we can try his bed out.” He jumped on said bed and enjoyed the way it was moving under him. He could really get used to a waterbed. Perhaps Mycroft would buy one if he asked him really nicely, perhaps while he was fucking him.

He snuggled into the soft linen, the dog in his arms. The hard training and the jogging had made him feel jaded and a little sleepy; the rather cold shower and the shave had not changed that. He decided to leave it to Mycroft to kiss him awake as soon as he’d show up. He kissed Lucky’s silky head and dozed off with a smile on his lips.

He woke up from a tongue that was licking on his lip. “Mmm, Mycie, nice…” But then he felt sharp teeth and fur and a wet nose and realised that it was not Mycroft who was kissing him. He pushed the dog out of his face. “Lucky, please, I love you, too, but that’s disgusting. No French kissing please.” He wiped over his wet lips and was about to settle back in the pillows when he heard voices from outside the room. The male voice belonged to Mycroft, but he didn’t recognise the female one. A female one!

He shot up from the bed and crashed down on the floor when one of his feet tangled in the blanket. “Shit! Lucky, come!” But the dog was running to the door already to welcome Mycroft. Sherlock saw the door starting to open up and in the last second he crawled into the bathroom and shut the door behind him. Who was that? And what did she want in Mycroft’s room? He fumbled for his phone to find out if he had missed a text from Mycroft, but the phone wasn’t there. He must have lost it in the bed or when he had fallen on the floor. He cursed again and then decided he could do nothing else but wait in here and hope that the woman, whoever she was, wouldn’t come into the bathroom. Of course, she wouldn't know that he was Mycroft's brother, but Mycroft would still not be delighted.

He heard steps in the room and Lucky’s happy yapping and he knew exactly what was shooting through Mycroft’s brain right now:

_ Sherlock is here, he didn’t get my text  _ (because Sherlock was quite sure that he must have sent him one to inform him of this complication), _ and he is not in the bed where he apparently was so he must be hiding in the bathroom. _

He heard the woman talking clearly through the thin bathroom door, and he finally recognised the voice. Lady  _ I-Will-Get-You-Someday _ Smallwood. What the hell was she doing in Edinburgh? He froze. She couldn't see him here! “Oh, you have a dog? How nice.” Her tone told him that she wasn’t thinking that at all, and this fact didn’t make him like her any more. “But doesn’t he pee everywhere if you leave him in your room the entire day?”

“Well…”  _ Think, Mycroft! _ “I have someone from the hotel who takes him for a walk a few times a day. So, you see, this is my room. If you excuse me now…”

“They walk the dog but don’t take care of your bed? What sort of a hotel is this? I wouldn’t call that good service.”  _ God, what a pretentious snob… _

“Yes, indeed, I will complain about that. So it’s probably not the kind of hotel you are looking for as your relatives are certainly used to more sophisticated environments.”

“Oh, I wouldn’t say that. That bed looks rather comfortable.”  _ I bet you would love to try it out right now with him. _ “Show me the bathroom too, please.”

_ Shit! _ Sherlock looked around hectically. But there was nowhere to hide except for the bathtub and he knew that he could as well keep his eyes shut and pretend he wasn’t there.

“Um, I don’t know.” Mycroft sounded rather desperate.

“Is there anything I shouldn’t see?”

_ Yes, his lover! His brother-lover!  _ Sherlock crawled behind the door as quiet as he could.

“No, of course not. I will show you the bathroom now.” Mycroft’s voice got much louder all at once. And then the door opened for a little bit, then a little bit more. “See, here it is, nothing special, just a bathroom.”

Only the open door was separating him from Mycroft; Sherlock could have touched his leg if he just had reached around with his hand. But he made himself as small as possible instead and prayed that she didn’t have to use the loo. Then they’d be lost.

“It’s nice. Rather small though.”

“Yes, well. It’s working for me.” And then the door was closed again and Sherlock allowed himself to breathe again. But he knew that it was not over.

“Mycroft, I know we had some difficulties in the past,” he heard her talk again.

Sherlock tensed when he discovered a certain undertone in her voice, and he knew that she must have stepped close to his lover. He felt his lips tighten. Mycroft had to do something against that. He couldn’t just stand there and let her make a move on him! He knew that Sherlock was there, goddammit!

Sherlock leaned against the door, feeling small and helpless all at once. This was such a farce. Why could he not go in there and say: “Keep your hands off of him, he’s  _ my _ man!” As if he didn’t know why…

“But I feel that we are very similar in many ways, and perhaps it would be worth a try,” he heard her continue.

He was about to explode, his hands were balled into fists so hard that it hurt. He would not sit here and listen to her trying to seduce his lover any longer. He just couldn’t. And all at once he remembered a sentence that he had heard only a few hours ago:  _ And there’s a woman, a woman who will bring danger.  _ Dear God… And in this moment he started to believe, believe that everything the old woman had predicted would happen. He stood up, feeling desperate and confused and he knew that he had to do something. But then he froze. Yes, Lady Smallwood would indeed bring danger if he went in there now and confront her. No, he had to stay here and let Mycroft handle the situation. He would get rid of her eventually and Sherlock could only hope that he would do it in a polite way as he wouldn’t want to seriously bring her up against him. If he only had his phone, he could just call Mycroft and give him an excuse to escape from her.

*****

Mycroft felt her hand on his arm and was about to scream. How the hell could he have brought himself into this situation? What had he been thinking at all, allowing her to enter this room? “Lady Smallwood…,” he started but she shook her head.

“I’m Elizabeth, you can call me Lizzie if you want,” she purred and arranged her hair.

“Lizzie,” he croaked, and she smiled with sparkling eyes.

She put the other hand on his shoulder, and then Lucky growled. She winced, and Mycroft looked down on the dog in surprise. He had never hear him growl, not even when he had first saw him, getting abused by this fucking arsehole. He would have sworn that the cute little dog wasn’t even able to make such a noise, but there he was, a little ball of black-and-white fur, showing his tiny teeth and making clear that he didn’t like at all what he had to watch - namely a woman laying hand on one of his owners.

“He’s rather nasty, isn’t he?” she said with a voice full of disgust, and Mycroft, who was very well aware that Sherlock could hear every word in his hiding-place, thought that it was time to finally do something. He opened his mouth when Lucky ran to the bed and grabbed something with his teeth, something small and flat and dark-blue.

“Oh, he has your phone!” Lady Smallwood said. “But no, you just texted someone.” She looked confused.

“It's not mine.” He was about to hit himself on the head.

She wrinkled her forehead. “No? And who put his phone next to your bed then? The chambermaid? Or is it his phone?” She pointed at Lucky, who was still holding Sherlock’s mobile between his teeth.

He took a deep breath to finally tell her that she was going too far, that it was none of her business whose phone it was, when Lucky ran to the bathroom and scratched at the door. He froze and then went to him. “Alright, go in there, but don’t put the phone into the loo.” He opened the door and Lucky slipped into the room, and he closed the door at once.

“Good that you put him away. Animals, you know, they are not agreeable with me.”

“Oh, that’s a shame. I love my dog.”

“Well, of course, it’s not that I don’t like them. And you know, I definitely like you.”

Mycroft felt his cheeks blush when she stepped closer to him while she was saying that. “Elizabeth…”

“Lizzie!”

_ Fuck, why does it take him so long?  _ “Lady Smallwood, I am flattered but…” And then finally his phone chirped. He almost dropped it when he ripped it out of his pocket, the melody was echoing in the room. “Hello?”

“Alright, tell her now you have to go doing something else - cleaning the street or doing lap dancing in a gay bar, whatever, just get rid of her before she throws you on the bed and fucks you! ” he heard Sherlock’s voice; he was whispering but Mycroft could hear that he wasn’t pleased at all.

“Oh, Anthea, hi. What? Yes, of course, I will come over right now,” Mycroft said as nonchalant as possible.

“Good. And don’t let her come in here!” Sherlock hissed.

Mycroft ended the call and looked into Lady Smallwood’s face that was showing a mixture of disappointment, anger, and something very close to hatred. Apparently it had not been such a good idea to mention Anthea, perhaps he should have stuck to lap-dancing. He cleared his throat. “I’m sorry, but I'll have to go now. Anthea has just received a report and I'll have to take care of it.”

“Yes, I’m sure that you do! I’m sure that you are taking care of your hot, little PA pretty often!” She almost spat the last words out.

“My relationship with Anthea is purely professional,” he said stiffly, remembering to have said something very similar to the PM not so long ago. “I keep my relationships to my colleagues always strictly professional. And that is not going to change.”

“Fine, I got it. You could have told me that long ago!”

“What? I never, ever made you any hopes!” Mycroft protested. “I expected you to understand without having to tell you explicitly that I’m not interested in you. I only wanted to avoid hurting your feelings.”

“Well, I tell you what, you failed miserably! I’m going now and you can go having a completely  _ professional _ conversation with this puppet!” She almost ran to the door and seconds later it was closed so loudly that the people two floors under him would have probably heard it as well.

Mycroft sighed deeply, then he turned around to watch Sherlock coming out of the bathroom with Lucky in his arms.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, I’m so sorry. She just caught me totally off-guard, and I know I should have told her as soon as she touched me that I wasn’t interested, the outcome would have been the same as it is now. I…” He stopped when Sherlock put one arm around his neck, still holding Lucky with the other one. Sherlock kissed him tenderly and Lucky licked his throat, and he couldn’t help but smiling.

“I know you thought you could avoid making yourself another enemy at work,” Sherlock said and rubbed his cheek on his. “And you couldn’t know that she would react so badly when you said that you had to go see Anthea. But well, now you finally got rid of her. Let’s just hope that she doesn’t bump into Anthea now and realise that you lied.”

“Oh, shit, yes.” Mycroft shook his head. “That was really not my day. But in the end it doesn’t matter, does it? Now she thinks I’m screwing my PA, and if she finds out that Anthea is not even here, she will think that I’m screwing somebody else.”

“Or perhaps she thinks that Lucky called you to save you.”

“Yes.” Mycroft stroked the soft head of the dog. “You are so smart, Lucky. Sherlock, he took your phone and scratched at the door to bring it to you so you could call me. He’s so amazing!”

Sherlock smiled. “Yes, he is. And he woke me up when he heard you two coming, otherwise I would have been sleeping in your bed when you walked in. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have come here but I thought it was safe as you said Anthea was not with you. I wanted to welcome you here but I was so sleepy and just dozed off.”

Mycroft shuddered. “Dear God. That’s why you didn’t read my text. That was very close. And Lucky saved our arses twice in this short time.”

“He did. He’s the smartest dog on earth. A real Holmes, only more intelligent…”

“Yes, I certainly wasn’t in my entire dealing with Lady Smallwood, let alone today.”

“Lizzie…” Sherlock corrected him and he shuddered again.

“I suppose we’ve just returned to Lady Smallwood and Mr Holmes again. If she talks to me at all anymore.”

“Well, you will have to soothe her eventually. But without making her any wrong hopes!”

“I’ve never done that!” Mycroft protested and Sherlock kissed him.

“I know you haven’t. Let’s not talk about her anymore. I guess you didn’t bring dinner?”

“No, I didn’t have a chance, sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry, we can just order something like we did yesterday. And then we’ll have a nice time together, won’t we?”

Mycroft pulled him close and kissed him on the lips. “Of course we will, both of it. I love you, Sherlock. How was your day at all? Did anything interesting happen? Any arse-licks?”

Sherlock grinned. “Interesting, yes. I'll tell you later. But no arse-licks. Not yet at least.”

“Then we should change that at once. But I guess you'll want to eat first.”

“Oh yes. I want to eat you.”

Mycroft kissed him again. “Let me get showered and shaved, then you can devour me.”

“I could shower with you. I did before but…”

“You are very welcome to join me.” And after Sherlock had put Lucky on the floor, Mycroft took his hand and led him back to the bathroom, not to hide this time but to enjoy.


	22. Chapter 22 - Day number 3 in Edinburgh

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The third and last day in Scotland. And it is not going to be a pleasant day.

“Bye bye, darling, and I'll call you as soon as I get out, like yesterday, so we can have lunch together and then go somewhere nice. You can choose, but let it be a rather secluded place, no people please.”

Sherlock smiled. He was still in bed, having watched Mycroft dress for work, complete with tie, watch, and sleeve garters. “We can always come here at once and have some fun before you'll have to go to your dinner party.”

“We definitely will, but I'll need to get some fresh air, too, after sitting in all these meetings for three days,” Mycroft explained.

“Yes, of course. We will go into the park; the corner I found yesterday was very nice, I just hope that she won’t be there again…”

Sherlock had told Mycroft about the fortune teller, and Mycroft had made wide eyes at first but he hadn’t taken it seriously at all. Not that Sherlock did but… No, he knew that it was just not possible that she could predict the future. Sherlock had once said to Mycroft - in another life before getting together - that the future was entirely predictable if one had all data. But she simply couldn’t have that data. And Lady Smallwood as the dangerous woman had certainly just been a simple coincidence.

Sherlock had agreed on all that, but deep in his heart he was still very impressed by what the old woman had said. But he would be happy to not see her again. Ever. But if what she had said had been at least slightly true, she wouldn’t be there again because if she had been guided to him to tell him all that, she was through with it now. So he would go there with his man and his dog and enjoy the sunny day and would not even think of her. After two insane days in this city, today just had to be normal.

“I’m sure that she won’t. And she didn’t seem to be that scary,” Mycroft said now.

Sherlock grimaced. What she had said had been scary enough. “But she was right about a few things. Like that you love me very much?”

Mycroft kissed him tenderly and he pulled him close. “Yes, of course I love you very much. More than anything in the world.” He seemed rather reluctant to leave him. “I need to go. But we’ll see each other very soon, okay?”

“Of course. Be strong. It’s only this morning, and the dinner party, and tomorrow we'll fly back and have the weekend for ourselves.”

“Well, I did try to keep up with work during the last days, but I think I’ll need to go to the office tomorrow afternoon. Only for a short time,” he hastily added when Sherlock grimaced again.

“Alright, of course you’ll have to.”

“Anthea will go today already and will take off a lot off my shoulders, so it should not take me too long to catch up.”

“It’s fine, Mycie. See you later.” They kissed again and then Sherlock and Lucky were alone once more. He stood up and got ready in the bathroom, and then they went outside for a walk. Nothing unusual happened, and Sherlock was pretty grateful for that. After returning to the hotel, he went to the gym again to do some more training.

He showered quickly once more and lay down on his bed and called Mrs Hudson to hear if there was anything new on the John-Kelly-front. In fact Martha had hardly seen anything from the doctor or Rosie over the last days; it seemed that he was spending every spare minute with Kelly. Martha had consoled the clients that had come to search for their help, and Sherlock promised her to call them when he was back. In the end he had to occupy himself during the long hours he couldn’t be with Mycroft during the day. So of course they would have to wait at least until Monday. Once Mycroft would be home from work the next day, solving cases was the last thing he would think about.

After the call, he got dressed for the lunch and the afternoon with Mycroft and chose tight, black jeans and a black t-shirt and got the cap ready as well as the sunglasses, and, of course, his coat. He went online for a while until Mycroft texted him to meet him in the Atelier Restaurant near the conference centre for lunch at half past twelve. Anthea had already left for the airport to take a flight to London, so it would be just the two of them and Lucky. And all the other people in the restaurant of course…

*****

Sometimes Mycroft could still not believe that this man who was coming up to him, accompanied by a little dog on the leash, was really his. This man with the black curls, the beautiful, androgynous face with the extraordinarily high cheekbones and those sensuous lips, the cool sunglasses, the tight, black clothes on his muscular body, the man who took off the glasses to look into his eyes now - could he really belong to him? Mycroft’s heart almost stopped when Sherlock smiled at him and these green-blue eyes looked at him with an expression full of love and appreciation and happiness to be with him.

“Hi,” he greeted him almost shyly. He had been leaning against the wall next to the restaurant. “How was your day so far?” He bent down to scratch Lucky’s head.

“Pretty quiet, thank God. But it has just gotten a lot more exciting.”

“Why, did anyone call you? Or did you see this woman?” Mycroft could him see roll his eyes. “Oh, you meant…”

“Yes, of course I meant now that I saw  _ you _ it’s much more exciting!”

“Sorry. And, thank you.” Mycroft felt pretty silly all at once. He didn’t know why he had been so slow in understanding what Sherlock was about. Perhaps because they weren’t alone, perhaps because he could see heads turning to Sherlock, not because people recognised him - he could see that nobody did - but because he was so stunningly attractive.

He winced when Sherlock pressed his arm for a second. “Let’s go inside and eat so we can go to the park. Lucky wants to get away from these masses of people and so do I.”

“Yes, this city is far too crowded for my taste,” Mycroft agreed. Both of them ordered pasta and a salad, Lucky was provided with fresh water and a dog biscuit by a smiling waitress who called him  _ cutie _ . Mycroft sometimes liked it if people were nice to Lucky and paid attention to him. He liked it a lot less if they did it to Sherlock. Of course nobody had ever called him  _ cutie _ in his presence. He wasn’t sure how badly Sherlock would react to that.

After finishing the very appealing lunch, they took a tram to go to the park. It was a beautiful, sunny day once more, and it felt wonderful to be outside instead of sitting in a sticky meeting room for hours and hours. There were plenty of people here, too, but the longer they walked - with Sherlock constantly throwing the ball for Lucky - the less people crossed their path, until they reached the bench on which Sherlock had had his memorable conversation with the old woman. Mycroft had never believed in occult powers and he would have sworn any day that Sherlock didn’t either. But despite their agreement that it had been only humbug, Mycroft knew that Sherlock deep inside believed that her predictions would prove to be real. He had decided to not touch that subject again. Sherlock would find out that nothing of it had been true, except for their love for each other of course. And yes, the story with Lady Smallwood had been a strange coincidence. But it had been nothing more.

They sat down on the bench and talked about Mycroft’s meetings and the news from Martha, and both regularly threw the ball for Lucky.

“It’s really nice here,” Mycroft said and looked at the high trees, the wild flowers and the bees that were flying around. It was very idyllic.

“Yes, and no old lady today.” Sherlock sounded rather relieved. “In fact, there is nobody here except for the two of us.” Lucky yapped. “Sorry, the three of us!” He threw the ball again.

“Indeed. It’s almost as if we were the only people in the world.”

“Oh, how nice that would be,” Sherlock said fervently. “So…”

“So what?” Mycroft asked him. He knew what Sherlock was about of course.

“So… Do you remember speaking about my sexual fantasies?”

“No.” Of course he did.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “You do! Don’t play stupid with me!”

Mycroft chuckled. “Public places, I know. We can’t do this, Sherlock. You saw what happened yesterday. Somebody could show up.”

“Yeah, I know.” Sherlock looked pretty sad all at once.

“Alright, what about a kiss?” Mycroft tried to comfort him. And somehow he was dying for a kiss himself.

Sherlock’s eyes brightened up at once. “A real kiss?”

“A short kiss. With tongues,” Mycroft added when he saw his eyes darkening again.

“Oh yes, please.”

“Come here.” He glanced around to see if they really were alone. He didn’t see anyone, and the only noises were coming from the bees and the birds.

Sherlock moved closer to him and put his right arm around his shoulders, and then their lips met, their tongues touched each other, and Sherlock moaned into his mouth.

They had kissed each other so many times already, and every kiss had blown him away, but this kiss was even more special, because they were outside, their faces were kissed by the sun and the wind, and Mycroft felt free, he felt as if they were like anybody else, like every other loving couple, able to show their affection to the world. He closed his eyes in pleasure and allowed himself to give into the sweetness and the love. And then Sherlock’s huge hand grabbed the back of his head and pulled him even closer, and he knew that they had to stop before they would do much more than sharing a short kiss. He pulled back a little and Sherlock did the same with an expression of love, regret, and gratitude.

“Thank you, Mycie. That was awesome.”

“Thank you, Sherlock! I love you.”

“Oh, I love you, too, Mycie.” Then he narrowed his eyes again and looked under the bench. “Where is Lucky?”

Mycroft straightened up and looked down as well as if Sherlock could have overlooked him. He only saw the ball. “Shit. Lucky!”

Sherlock shouted his name, too, and then they heard a happy yapping from an apparently long distance. Sherlock sighed. “Stay here and relax, I'll go catch him.”

“Alright, but if you don’t find him, text me and I’ll come.” The dog barked again and it sounded as if he was even further away now.

“He must be in this direction. Shouldn’t take me long.”

Mycroft watched Sherlock leave quickly and admired the sight of his round arse in the tight jeans until he had disappeared into the bushes.

He leaned back and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth on his face. He made sure to memorize this feeling, this lightness, the kiss he could still feel on his lips, the loud singing of the birds; somehow being outside made their love appear even more real to him.

He didn’t know if he had heard a noise, too, or only sensed the danger, but he opened his eyes in the knowledge that he was in trouble.

“Look at the old faggot, taking a sunbath; I thought you guys rather like to put their heads in shit!” Nasty laughter rewarded this lovely start of the conversation. “So lover-boy is gone and left you all alone,” the second one said with a sneering grin. “Was the kissy-kissy nice? Did you get a hard dick?”

There were three of them. Mycroft deduced them within ten seconds. All three were around twenty years old, grown up in a bad area, school dropouts, never employed, definitely with a police record for robbery or even violent assault. The first one who had insulted him, their leader for sure, was very muscular-  a black-haired bundle of aggression and malice. The other two were rather skinny - one blond, one bald-headed - both not half as scary as their boss but keen on pleasing him, and that made them dangerous as well. They were searching for a fight they were sure to win. Given the current circumstances, they most definitely would. They were three and he was alone, they were not even half as old as he was, and they didn’t have anything to lose. He knew that he couldn’t even call the police, not only because they would never get here in time but because they would need his identity and eventually find out what this assault had been about. And then they would find out Sherlock’s identity and their world would crumble.

“Got no tongue anymore, old poof?” asked the second one, an extremely ugly creature with small, mean eyes, blond hair that had not seen shampoo in a long while, dressed in new and expensive clothes (probably stolen), but they were dirty and his smile proved that he didn't have access to a toothbrush every day.

Mycroft knew that he could tell them to piss off. He could try to stare them into the ground with his Iceman look. But he knew that it wouldn’t work. It would only make them attack him at once. And he needed more time. Slowly he reached for the phone in his pocket. He couldn’t call the police, but he could inform Sherlock so he would finally come back and wouldn’t come unprepared.

But his intention had been too obvious. “Oh, no, you don’t call the cops!” Number one had seen his attempt and came to him and ripped the phone out of his hand. Mycroft cursed internally but he didn’t say anything. “Oh, nice thing, you think Harry can sell that?” Blacky asked the bald guy.  _ Harry sells everything _ was the answer.

Mycroft tried to look as if it didn’t bother him at all. He knew very well that if he kept ignoring them, they would not just leave and torture somebody else, but he had to play for time. He was very aware that he could never beat them all in a fight. He had used the element of surprise and his old martial arts knowledge to put Lucky’s nasty owner out of action, but that wouldn’t work here. He was sitting and they were standing in front of him, he would not come onto his feet fast enough to try anything. If Sherlock came before they started hitting him, there would still be three against two, and Mycroft knew that he didn’t count as a full fighter. But something told him that this wouldn’t matter.

“Hey, say something you fucking, old cunt!” Number one closed the distance between them and him and punched him against his shoulder. Mycroft froze and he knew that things would get out of control very fast now. And finally he realised that he was scared. He had been scared to death because of Sherlock so many times over the years, scared so much about the man he loved being in trouble because of the drugs or because he’d been shot, but now, for the first time in his life, he was afraid to die, die in this beautiful park on this stunningly sunny day, surrounded by the singing of the birds, die from the hands of these bastards, die when he was finally happy, had finally gotten what he had longed for for such a long time.  _ Where are you, Sherlock? _

“Yes, give it to him, but watch out, he loves cock!” the blond arsehole encouraged his boss while the bald guy just laughed like a maniac.

Mycroft’s entire body was tense, and he felt cold. Blacky was standing right in front of him now and smiled at him with yellow teeth. “You want to suck something? What if I cut off your stinky dick and stick in in your mouth?” He punched him again, this time against his chest. His jeans jacket fell open and Mycroft could see a knife on his belt. He knew that he had to act now or they would just kill him, and he wouldn’t let them win so easily. He took a deep breath when a voice, colder than any voice he had ever heard, started to speak.

“If you say another word to him except for  _ I’m sorry, sir, can you please forgive me? _ your buddies can help you searching for your tongue in the bushes, and if you touch him again, they can look for your  _ head _ there.”

There was a total silence after this calm and quiet statement, except for the birds chirping, and for the deep growl that was coming out of a very small throat. Then three ugly faces turned towards Sherlock, and Mycroft stared at him as well, feeling a mixture of relief, hope, and fear. Sherlock was standing a few metres behind the gang; he wasn’t wearing his coat, and the huge muscles on his upper arms were working very visibly. His eyes were bright and cold as ice and his mouth was so tense that his cheeks were looking hollow, the cheekbones sticking out like blades.It was very obvious that he was not calm at all. He was burning with wrath. But Mycroft figured why he had not attacked the black-haired guy right away. Sherlock knew what was at stage for them and was hoping that the nasty three would just give up and leave them alone. But Mycroft was pretty sure that this wouldn’t happen.

Still nobody said a word for what seemed to be ages. Then Blacky stormed towards Sherlock with the knife in his hand and was welcomed with a punch in the face that made him fly several metres. He dropped like a sack and lay still.

“Are you okay?” Sherlock asked Mycroft as if nothing had happened.

“Um, yes, I’m fine.”  _ Fine, my God _ … His voice was trembling and he could feel his hands shiver.

The skinhead ran to his fallen friend and rattled at his shoulder, while the blond one asked disbelievingly: “What did you do with Joe?” and all at once he also had a knife in his hand. He made one step to Sherlock and then Lucky was running to him, growling like a bulldog, and bit in his leg right above the ankle. The young man screamed and tried to shake him off violently.

“Leave him alone or you'll die!” Sherlock hissed and grabbed for his shoulder.

“He’s fucking biting me!” He shook his leg with even more vehemence while trying to get rid of Sherlock’s grip at the same time; he managed to push Sherlock back but then he stumbled and fell on his arse and the knife dropped out of his hand, but he grabbed for it at once with wild wrath in his eyes. Mycroft finally shook off his numbness, shot up from the bench and got hold of Lucky with one smooth move, pulling him back, while Sherlock threw himself on the blond guy and Mycroft heard a hard fist hitting a head. They rolled around and Mycroft froze in shock, but it was Sherlock who ended up on top, facing away from him. “Drop this fucking knife or I’ll rip off your hand and shove it into your throat!”

In the next second the knife was flying directly before Mycroft’s feet, and he stepped on it while having some trouble to calm down the still growling, struggling dog that was having a piece of a bloody sock between his teeth like a trophy. Mycroft pressed him tight against his chest, and then he turned to the other two guys, making sure that they wouldn’t attack any of them from behind. He saw that the ugly bald guy was helping his black-haired friend get on his feet. The gang leader was tumbling but apparently not severely hurt, and Mycroft was grateful for that. He wouldn’t mind the guy being in pieces, but then the police would definitely have to get involved…

Then blondie was thrown against his buddies, and from behind him Mycroft heard Sherlock say with that strange, frightening voice: “Go now and never come back, or I will break your necks.”

“You fucking faggots!” the blond guy screamed, rubbing the black eye he had been graced with by Sherlock, but his hairless friend, who was apparently the smart one of them, pulled at his arm and pushed him in the opposite direction. “Shut up, let’s go. Joe, come on.” Then he bent down to pick something up. Mycroft realised that it was his phone that he had totally forgotten about. The young Scot made a step back and gave it to him. “Sorry,” he mumbled to Mycroft’s surprise, avoiding looking into his eyes. Then he concentrated on helping Blacky who was still insecure on his feet. Slowly they all stumbled out of sight, and Mycroft stared at them, his heart racing, his breath fast and unsteady, and he realised that he had a shock.

As soon as they had disappeared, Lucky stopped growling and spat the piece of fabric out, and Mycroft closed his eyes in relief and automatically stored his phone in his jacket. “My God, Sherlock, that was…” He turned around to him while he was talking and felt his heart almost stop at the sight. “Sherlock,” he brought out and reached out for him with his shivering free hand.

“It’s okay, Mycie, it’s all good.”

“Sherlock,” he whispered again and touched his cheek, feeling horrified, shocked, and desperate. The left side of Sherlock’s beautiful face was bloody from the eyebrow to the chin.

“I’m fine, he only caught me with the knife, just in the eyebrow,” Sherlock explained with a soothing voice, but Mycroft felt his knees get weak. The knife could have hit his eye instead. It could have cut his throat. He almost fainted when he thought how easily he could have lost Sherlock.

“Honey, sit down, come on.” Sherlock freed Lucky out of his grip and put him on the ground, and then he guided Mycroft to the bench and urged him to sit down with him. He fumbled a tissue from his pocket. “Can you try to get the blood out of my eye?” he asked him and Mycroft swallowed. He had never expected to have to hear such words out of Sherlock’s mouth.

Very carefully he cleaned Sherlock’s face, wiping the blood out of his eye, avoiding to touch the cut itself. At least it had stopped bleeding. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry,” Mycroft whispered. “I was so useless, I should have done something to scare them off before you came so they couldn’t have hurt you.”

“Hush, Mycie, there was nothing you could have done, they would have beaten you up or worse. Come here.”

And then Mycroft was pulled against his chest and buried his face on his throat, and he felt tears running down his cheeks. “We 'll need to get you into hospital, Sherlock.”

“I’m fine, and I couldn’t go there anyway because they would inform the police,” Sherlock said quietly and stroked his back. “We can’t tell anyone what happened. If they find them, they will say what they saw us doing, and everything will come out. I’m sorry, it was all my fault - I should have never asked you to do anything with me outside of a secure room.”

“It was me who suggested the kiss, Sherlock. And probably they would have attacked me anyway because they thought I was an easy victim.” Mycroft murmured. “Oh, God, I can’t believe that has really happened. And if you had not been so brave and strong and convincing, perhaps they would have injured or killed us all.”

“Lucky would not have let that happen, right, fluff-ball?”

Mycroft smiled while he was still crying. “He was so brave, too. Our little fighter.”

Lucky yapped and looked pretty satisfied.

“But it was your fault that I wasn’t there when they came and were mean to him!” Sherlock told the dog and Lucky concentrated on the ball that was still lying next to the bench.

“What did he do out there?” Mycroft asked and searched for a tissue in his jacket to clean his own face, too.

“Nothing, just sniffing around. Probably he smelled a trace of a deer or something. He was so deep in the bushes that it took me ages to get to him. He’s so smart that I tend to forget that he’s still a dog, and he chose the worst moment to behave like one.”

“Perhaps it was good that you were not here, Sherlock. God knows what would have happened if they had caught us both sitting here.”

Sherlock nodded. “Yes, perhaps it would have been even worse.” He kissed Mycroft on the temple and then stood up and pulled Mycroft with him. “Let’s find some water so I can wash off my face properly, and then we'll go back to the hotel. We both need rest and I guess I should take it easy for today. And you need to relax and maybe sleep a bit before your party tonight.”

He tried to drag Mycroft with him, but the politician stood still. “You are not seriously thinking that I’ll go there, are you?”

Sherlock looked at him and gave him a wry smile. “But you'll have to, won’t you? You will be in trouble and really, it’s just a cut…”

“I am  _ not _ going there,” Mycroft said very pointedly. “We will just go to bed and order dinner later, I want to be with you! And of course I won’t go into the office tomorrow, either, God, Sherlock, I could have lost you today.” He felt as if something was scratching at his heart and he could have screamed. He didn’t know where to go with the pain that had grabbed for his heart and his soul; he only knew that he needed to be alone with Sherlock and Lucky and cuddle up with them, and tomorrow they would go back to London and spend a cosy, love-filled weekend, and he would never, ever come back to this city.

He stroked Sherlock’s arm and asked: “Where’s your coat?” when they finally started walking back.

“Right over there, I threw it on the ground when I saw them, figuring I’d look scarier without it,” Sherlock explained.

Mycroft hurried to pick up the coat for him and helped him putting it on. “Yes, your muscles are indeed impressive. Worked out today again?”

“Every day, Mycie. And it finally paid out.”

“It has always paid out. You look even greater with all these muscles than you did before.”

“Are you flirting with me, Mycie?”

“Maybe.” He smiled and put his arm around Sherlock’s shoulder, not giving a damn about who might see them.

“Want to get me in bed?” Sherlock teased him.

“We’ll go to bed and you’ll sleep! I’m sure that there’s a pharmacy on our way. I’ll get you this balm you used on me after Sherrinford, you remember that?”

“Remember that? You’re kidding, right?”

“Yes, of course. It helped me and I hope that it will help you, too. But perhaps you'll need to be stitched, Sherlock.”

“Nah, it’s not that bad. It would still bleed if it was. Don’t need any stitches. We will bandage it and that’s it.”

“So you'll only need some treatment and rest.”

“I need you, Mycie.”

“You have me, Sherlock, and you always will.”

“I love you, Mycie.”

“And I love you.” No matter what else would happen, this would be true forever.

They continued their way out of the park undisturbed, and Mycroft looked out for signposts for a public bathroom. Five minutes later Sherlock was washing his face carefully. The cut started to bleed again but it looked as if it wasn’t too deep. Nevertheless Mycroft felt so bad looking at it and wished they would have beaten these fucking guys up.

As they were alone, Sherlock stroked his cheek gently and smiled. “When we go to the pharmacy, they can have a look if I do need a doctor, but really, I think the balm and a tight bandage or strong plaster will do. It might leave a scar though.”

He sounded worried, and Mycroft shook his head. “You are not really thinking that would bother me, are you? Well, actually it would because you’d have to think of these arseholes every time you look into the mirror!” He pulled Sherlock close and kissed his forehead. “I’ll take care of you and nothing will ever make you less beautiful to me.” He heard Sherlock mumble something against his throat that he couldn’t understand. “What was that, love?”

“Except if I shaved off my hair,” Sherlock repeated.

“Honey, you can shave it off anytime if you want, I don’t mind! Well, better not today. Let’s go now; we need to get you taken care of and then close out this fucking world for the rest of the day.” He remembered that he would have to call the Chief Constable to let him know that he would skip the dinner party. But that was all; the rest of the day and the night would only belong to Sherlock.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some fun with smut and a hint of angst

“Oh my God, Sherlock, what happened? Your poor face!”

“No worries, Martha, it’s just a cut in the eyebrow.”

“Just? Who did that? Sit down, love, I'll give you a cuppa! And I know I have some biscuits left, oh, here they are.”

Sherlock sat down on a kitchen chair with a smile. It was Saturday afternoon and he had sent Mycroft to his office to catch up with work as he had originally planned. Of course Mycroft had protested and said he would stay at home with him, but Sherlock already had a pretty bad conscience that he had skipped the dinner party and he didn’t want to cause him even more problems with the PM.

They had spent a lovely day and evening together once they had mostly shaken off the shock they had both suffered thanks to the hassle with these homophobic bastards. Sherlock had tried not to show Mycroft how terrified he had been because of having to witness his lover being at the mercy of three malevolent shitheads that had dared insult and humiliate him. And Sherlock knew that Mycroft had been deeply disturbed by both the way he had been verbally attacked by this bunch of idiots and Sherlock’s injury.

The guy in the pharmacy had been so kind to have a look at his face and disinfect, creamed and closed the wound with a butterfly clip and then put a bandage over it. They had taken the balm and more plasters and bandages as well as some painkillers with them, and Sherlock was sure that the wound would heal fine. Mycroft had put him in his bed as soon as they had reached the hotel, and Sherlock had cuddled up with Lucky. He had been about to tell Mycroft to stay with them to recover himself, but he had understood that it helped his lover to take care of him, and so he had let him fetch some scones for them and bring him tea, and then Mycroft had finally joined Sherlock and the dog in bed. They had done nothing else for the rest of the day and evening but cuddling and kissing, and Sherlock had needed that so much and he had known that Mycroft’s need to have this comforting contact was even bigger. He felt that his terrible experience had brought them even closer together. They had fallen asleep early with Mycroft resting his head on Sherlock’s chest and they had returned to London very early.

Now Martha provided him with a cup of tea and sat down opposite of him. “Tell me, Sherlock, what happened?”

Sherlock sighed and then he told her what had happened in the park; she was terrified about the story just as he had expected.

“Oh Sherlock, why are the people still so ignorant, so intolerant, and so bloody nasty?!”

“Good question, Martha. But I’m afraid they’ll never change. And they didn’t even know that we are brothers…” God knew what they would have done then. “It was horrible, Martha,” he said quietly. “Coming back there, happy to have the dog back, and then see these three _nothings_ standing there, threatening him, even punching him. He was looking so scared and it just broke my heart.”

“I’m so sorry you two have to go through so much.” She took his hand and he pressed it gently. “You deserve to be happy but instead you always have to be so careful and you have to hide something that just needs to be accepted. And now that.”

“It will never be accepted, Martha,” Sherlock said, feeling the darkness linger over him once more. “I’m so afraid that someday it will all come out and then we will lose each other. I would rather lose everything I have than losing him.” He looked down to Lucky, who was watching him with an admiring expression. “And you of course, little man.” He let his free hand reach down to the dog and smiled when it was licked immediately.

“Perhaps you should really seriously consider what you once told me you would like to do.”

Sherlock knew what she meant without having to ask. “I wish we could. But he can’t.”

“Did you talk to him about it?”

“In a way.” In a wordless but intense way; just their eyes had talked, but it had been enough. And the texting the next day had cemented Mycroft’s decision. He had said he was sorry, but he hadn’t made him any hopes. “He won’t do it, Martha.”

“I’m so sorry. I thought…”

“He’d do anything for me. But not that. His life here and his work are too important to him. He would feel like a traitor to his country.” And if Sherlock was very, very honest to himself, he had to admit that in a very distant, very small corner of his heart, he felt that Mycroft’s refusal to leave it all behind for him was a betrayal to their love, to him. But he didn’t want to even think that. Mycroft was Mycroft. He had fallen in love with a decent, loyal, trustworthy and honourable man, and there was no way he would ever force him to choose between the Queen and him. _Because you know that he would always choose the Queen_ … _Shut up!_

He reached for his tea and drank up. “I will go upstairs now, Martha, I want to get some more clothes to take them with me, and then I’ll go back to Mycroft. Did you see John since yesterday?”

“No, he just called to let me know that he’s still alive. He more or less already lives with her.”

“It’s amazing how quickly this has developed. Not in my wildest dreams I would have thought that it would work out so perfectly. It’s good that he’s happy, and I guess this woman is good for Rosie, too.” He didn’t know why he felt so generous today, probably the painkillers had messed with his brain…

“She very certainly is. John has sent me a picture of the three of them. Let me just get my phone.” She took it from her handbag and searched for a moment. “Here, don’t they look happy?”

They did indeed. The doctor was grinning from ear to ear, his one arm was around the shoulders of his beautiful girlfriend that was beaming into the camera as well, and on her arms she had the baby that was looking up to her with big, bright eyes. _They look like the perfect family, right out of some stupid television spot_ , Sherlock thought with a bitterness that surprised him. He was not jealous of any of them for being happy or in love. He simply hated the fact that he and Mycroft had to hide their love because in other people’s eyes it was the unthinkable, the unacceptable, the impossible love. Nobody would smile and say how nice they were together, how cute, they would rather vomit because of it. And Sherlock realised that these feelings of bitterness and frustration about the unfairness of this that he’d had from the very start, had not even not turned into acceptance, they had even increased.

He gave the phone back to Mrs Hudson and winced when she gently touched his cheek. “My dear boy, I wish I could help you, both of you.”

He smiled and put his huge hand on her small one. “That you accept us the way we are is help enough. And you did much more. John owes you even more though, he just doesn’t know it. I'll have to go now, I want to be back before Mycie comes home.”

After giving her a peck on the cheek, he went upstairs, followed by Lucky. He had brought a bag to take some warmer clothes with him and also some more shirts. He had already bought some pairs of jeans, he didn’t like wearing his suits anymore, he only did for work. Speaking of that, he glanced over the papers on the table in the living room where Martha had scribbled some names and numbers of possible clients and a few words about their problems. He sighed when he saw that nothing was interesting in the least. But then he put the papers in his bag, too. If he found time over the weekend, he would probably call some of them and make appointments for the following week. It would mean some money and a way to pass the time before he could see Mycroft in the evenings.

“Sherlock! How great that you are just here!”

Sherlock closed his eyes. What had he done to deserve this? He turned around. “Hi John, how are you?”

“Sherlock! What…? Your face! Oh, in what kind of trouble did you get this time?”

He cursed internally. He had totally forgotten about the injury, again, the painkillers… What was far worse was that he had not expected to see the doctor in Baker Street at this time of day, and he had not thought about a cover story for him. “I got cut by a guy. Nothing to it.”

“He cut you? Why?”

“It was just an accident.” And it really had been. He was sure that the blond had not tried to cut out his eye or hurt him. He had wanted to hurt _Lucky_ and that was even worse.

“Sherlock! What happened?”

Fuck, why did John care at all? And why did he never know when it was enough? Sherlock decided to give him a little lesson. “I was with a man in Edinburgh, okay? We were in a park and kissed, and then three guys came along and they didn’t like that. We had to fight against them and I got cut.”

John’s eyes had become wider with every word. “Oh my God! That must have been so horrible!”

“Yes, it was. So, I will go now so have a nice day.”

“Did a doctor have a look on the cut? How bad is it? Shall I look at it?”

“It’s fine; it was fixed with a butterfly clip, and Mycroft will help me change it tomorrow I guess. Nothing to worry about.”

“Which man were you with? How did you meet him?”

 _Meet him? He’s my brother_. “I said I was in a park, John. But I forgot that you don’t know anything about gay life.” Thank God Sherlock had read a thing or two about it...

“You want to tell me that you just went to a park to, what, find a man for…” John blushed.

“Sex, yes, of course. There is a restroom in a pretty secluded part of it, and I found out online that it’s a place where you can meet other guys.”

“But who was he?” John seemed to be completely shaken.

“I don’t know, I didn’t ask for his name,” Sherlock said with a shrug. His mood was starting to lighten up.

“But… And… You kissed him then?”

“On a bench, yes. Of course, after we were through with these guys, he wasn’t really up to fucking anymore.” It was great to see how red the doctor’s face could get. With more than a little sting of bitterness, Sherlock thought that in all probability John’s head would _explode_ if he told him who he had really been with.

“To fu… but I thought… you were…”

“What, John, in love with you?”

“Well, yes, and also… a… virgin.”

“So actually you are saying that I should do what, wait for you until you are through with this woman and realise that you are indeed gay and want to be with me?”

“No, I mean, I don’t think I’m gay and I’m very happy with Kelly, so…”

“Oh really? Isn’t that what I've told you from the start? That it wouldn’t make any sense to try to have a relationship with me because you are simply not into men?”

“Yes, you did, and you were right!”

“So, even though you do know that, you are still expecting me to long for you and do nothing and stay a virgin forever instead of having some fun?”

“No! I didn’t say that and I didn’t mean that!” John was getting pretty loud now. “But you cannot just go to a park and screw around with strangers for God’s sake! They could rape you, or rob you, or even kill you! They could be sick and infect you! And look what happened, you got hurt! And weren’t you in Edinburgh with your brother? What does he think about that?”

 _Well, if it was really true, he would not be delighted at all_ … “He doesn’t know it, okay. He’s my brother, not my father. I’m an adult in case you forgot. And if I want to fuck around, I'll do it. You should really know better than to think I would go with someone who would harm me. I can deduce people, perhaps you remember. And do you really think I’ve never heard of condoms?” Not that he’d ever had to wear any.

John sank down onto his chair. “Yes, of course, I’m sorry. And I know that it’s none of my business. I’m just so worried about you and so sorry how things between us have changed so much to the worse so quickly.”

Sherlock sat down as well. “I’m sorry, too, John, but I guess that’s life. Things start and things end.” _But some things may never end_.

John swallowed audibly. “You mean we are not friends anymore?”

“Of course we are. But now you have a girlfriend and you are hardly ever here anymore, and I mostly don’t sleep in this flat, either. We are not the Baker Street boys anymore.”

“So do you spend the nights still in Mycroft’s house? You don’t have to as I always stay over at Kelly’s now.”

 _Great, Sherlock_. “You forget Lucky, John. He’s unhappy when he can’t be with Mycroft at least in the evenings. And things have changed between Mycroft and me.” Sherlock almost shook his head over his own stupidity. Why had he not thought of just telling that John a long time ago? Was his brain working so hard to make everything complicated that he could never think of the easiest solution? And what was easier than the truth? Well, a small part of the truth…

“Yes, I know that you get along so much better now,” John agreed.

“It’s more than that. We have become so close, and I found out that I really like him. I misunderstood him for so many years, and I didn’t treat him very kindly.”

“No, you really didn’t.”

 _Oh, shut up, John!_ “I'm making up for that now I guess. I like to spend time with him, and it’s nice to be in his house. I know it, you know. It belonged to Uncle Rudi, and I played in it as a kid. It brings back great memories to be there.” Okay, he was moving away from the truth now. He couldn’t remember having been in Uncle Rudi’s house more often than three times and it had been awfully boring.

“I see, of course. Family is very important. I know I should catch up more often with Harry. I will call her tomorrow. It’s great that you think so much better of Mycroft now, and I’m sure that your parents are very happy about it. It’s good that you are so close to your family now!”

 _Don’t mention Mycroft and our fucking parents in the same sentence!_ “Yes, it is, and you should really get closer to Harry, too.” Sherlock stood up. “I’m going back to Mycroft now, we'll need to talk about this case.”

“Well, I still don’t see why I can’t be involved in that,” John said, apparently feeling a little hurt. He stood up as well.

“That’s not my decision,” Sherlock retorted. “And let’s face it, you don’t have time for solving cases anymore.”

“As if you had! You should see the comments under my blog from people who complain about you; you are never here, you never call anybody back and you completely ignore your emails.”

Was it not possible to have a conversation with John and not have an argument? “Your blog, John? I didn’t know that you still wrote anything there.”

“Yes, well, I can’t because we don’t solve any cases. And the ones you solve on your own, I don’t know about them, do I? You never tell me anything.”

“Well, you are never here, John. You have something better to do.”

“Oh, I knew that you would never forgive me that. I’m sorry, I’m sorry that I hurt your feelings by getting into a serious relationship, but you can’t expect me to give it up for you or for our clients!”

“I don’t expect that at all. You are the one who complains about not being involved in any cases anymore, and when I say that’s because you are not here, you say you prefer to be somewhere else. Well, we won’t come to any agreement I’m afraid. I’m going to Mycroft now;  see you… whenever.”

“You know, Sherlock, you should perhaps spend a little less time with him.”

“Didn’t you just say that it was great that I was so close to my family again?” Sherlock felt that he was getting pissed off now.

“Yes, but not every day! That’s not normal, and not healthy! You are _hiding_ in his house; you should go outside and have some fun and perhaps meet someone you can be with.”

 _Not normal, not healthy, fuck you, John!_ “Well, when I told you I had done exactly that, you were horrified!”

“But I didn’t mean going to a park and having sex with strangers! There must be some decent gay men out there, I mean, look at you! I’m sure that you could find a man you are really in love with and who loves you, too, someone you can do things with, and I don’t mean just sex.”

_Yes, there is one._

“What do you mean, you have met one already? But why do you have to search for men in parks then?” John looked very confused.

And Sherlock realised that he had said this loudly. He could feel his cheeks flush and his throat get dry. Did this Scottish arsehole cut his brain out? “I meant you, John,” he croaked. What else could he have said?

“Oh! Oh, Sherlock, I’m so sorry, I’m such an idiot, talking like that. I know that love doesn’t just disappear with a snap of your fingers. I wish so much that I could give you what you need.”

In this moment Sherlock felt his secret phone vibrating in his pocket and had to suppress a smile. Instead he nodded earnestly. “Me too, John. I'll better go now before I'll do something we both regret. Bye.”

“Bye, Sherlock, and perhaps I will have more time next week so I could see some clients with you. If you don’t mind?”

“I don’t want your sympathy, John. But if you like - it’s still your flat, too, isn’t it?”

“Yes.” John didn’t sound too convincing, and Sherlock figured that he and Kelly were already toying with the idea of John moving in with her. They were really not wasting any time. Well, the sooner the doctor would move out of here, the better.

“Come, Lucky.” He left the flat and the unhappy doctor behind. As soon as he stepped out into the sun, he checked his phone.

_Hey beautiful, I will be at home in about forty-five minutes. I hope that your face is doing fine. Can’t wait to see you and make love to you if you feel like it. MH_

_I totally feel like it. Just collected some clothes from 221B, now on my way home. I might put on my chaps for you. SH_

_Oh yes, please. I love you and I will show you how much very soon. MH_

_I love you, Mycie. Just come home safe and then it will be just you and me for the rest of the weekend. Oh, and Lucky of course. Bye for now. SH_

He stored the phone with a smile and headed for a cab. His heart started beating faster when he thought of the weekend ahead of them. He hadn’t seen Mycroft for less than two hours, and he was already missing him. He couldn’t wait to get home. To him. To his life.

*****

Sherlock was all over Mycroft when the politician entered his house. He covered his face with kisses and plundered his mouth, but Mycroft didn’t allow it for very long. He freed himself from Sherlock and looked at him with narrowed eyes.

“Honey, why did you do that?” He got on his knees to greet Lucky who enthusiastically licked his hand.

“What?” Sherlock was confused for a moment, and then Mycroft got up, holding Lucky with one arm, and stroked gently over his still damp curls.

“Oh, that.” After returning from Baker Street, he had hopped under the shower and had tried to wash his hair without messing up the bandage, but it hadn’t really worked. They had left Edinburgh very early in the morning and Sherlock had just washed himself with a flannel while Mycroft had taken a quick shower. “I could have not welcomed you with dirty hair and a sweaty body, could I?” Sherlock defeated himself.

“Yes you could. Come now, I will take care of the wound.”

Their kissed several times on their way to the bathroom and then Sherlock was sitting still, holding the dog on his lap, while Mycroft carefully removed the bandage and the plaster and creamed the wound and renewed the plaster.

“Well, do you mind if I refresh myself now and change clothes before we'll have tea?”

Sherlock smiled. “Of course not. I will get everything ready and you take your time.”

Mycroft kissed him. “Thanks honey. And I love you.”

“And guess who loves you!”

“John? Martha? The PM?”

Sherlock stuck out his tongue. “Lady Smallwood!”

“Oh God,” Mycroft mumbled and Sherlock hurried to kiss him. “Sorry, not a good joke. I love you of course.” He was pressed into Mycroft’s arms and heard him murmur: “That’s much better.”

After another sweet kiss Sherlock put Lucky on the ground and went to the corridor to get their food, and he brought it into the kitchen. He made tea and cut the cake he had brought when he heard Mycroft come down the stairs.

He admired the sight when Mycroft entered the kitchen. He was wearing black jeans and a casual white shirt. Mycroft smiled when he caught his gaze. “Later, Sherlock.”

“Alright. I know it's worth waiting for.”

After another kiss they sat down and drank tea. Mycroft told Sherlock that he had taken care of everything necessary at work, undisturbed and alone in his office, and would now be totally free until Monday if nothing of national importance happened. _It better won’t_ , Sherlock thought. He told Mycroft about his conversation with John, and Mycroft almost choked from laughing when he told him the part with the park-sex. He didn’t leave out his little slippery in the end and earned two raised eyebrows for that, but since he had saved the situation so well, Mycroft forgave him right away.

“That was very good,” Sherlock stated after swallowing the last bit of the cake and put the fork on his plate.

“Very agreeable indeed.” Mycroft used his tissue to clean his mouth in this sexy way that made Sherlock get hot every time he watched it. Not that he had needed any more reason to get hot.

“Let me take care of the dishes while you slip into these sexy chaps,” Mycroft suggested, and Sherlock kissed him on the cheek.

“Everything for you, Mycie.” Sherlock put down the collar of Mycroft’s shirt a bit to look at the black chest hair and to breathe a kiss on a pale throat.

“Hurry up, Sherlock, I can’t wait to get my hands on you. I’ll be upstairs in ten minutes and I want you to be ready then.”

Sherlock smiled. “Aye sir, and if I’m not you may punish me.”

“I will. Your punishment will be that I won’t touch you! You may suck me off, but then I’ll go back to the office.”

“Alright, I’m going!” They exchanged smiles and another kiss, and then Sherlock went to the bedroom to dress up properly. He got rid of his shirt and trousers and put on the chaps and black boots and nothing else. Lucky was watching him with vivid eyes. “Looking good?” Sherlock asked him and he yapped once. “Thanks, Lucky. But where is Daddy now? Do I have to punish _him_ in the end?”

He went downstairs again and heard Mycroft talk in the living room. He froze for a moment but then he realised that he was just on the phone. He walked into the room and Mycroft turned to him and Sherlock could see him swallow. Then he rolled his eyes and mouthed: “The PM.” Not that Sherlock had expected it to be anyone else. It seemed that Mycroft was already being punished for not coming up to him in time.

“Yes, sir, I know I agreed on attending that dinner party, but I was feeling sick at the stomach and didn’t see any sense in going there and... I can imagine that you don’t care about that but I did.” His tone got a little frosty with the last sentence.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. Of course Mycroft was lying to his boss, but how could this arsehole dare say that he didn’t care that Mycroft had been too sick to go to that bloody party? What did he think Mycroft was? A robot?

Mycroft had seen his expression and just shook his head and smiled. “Yes, sir, I was in the office today and I am totally... Well, I will take care of that on Monday. If you excuse me now... Yes, I will. Have a nice weekend. Bye.” He finally ended the call and put his phone on the table. “God, he’s really killing me.”

“I will kill him if he doesn’t stop treating you like that.”

“Forget him now and come here, Sherlock.”

Sherlock wrapped his arms around his neck, and they kissed passionately while Mycroft‘s hands were sliding over his bare buttocks, pressing their groins together. Sherlock moaned into his mouth, rubbing his erect cock against Mycroft’s. He urged Mycroft to move backwards and sit down on the couch, and then he took off the front part of the chaps, letting his dick spring free, and Mycroft gasped and inhaled it at once, sucking it hard and deftly. Sherlock cursed when he felt his climax coming only a minute later but he didn’t pull away and emptied his release into Mycroft’s eagerly swallowing mouth. Without any further hesitation he let himself drop on his knees and opened Mycroft’s zipper.

“Wait, let me get it down,” Mycroft said and lifted his arse to put his jeans down to his ankles, but Sherlock took his shoes and jeans off completely so he could move better between Mycroft’s legs and was able to spread them wider. So now Mycroft was sitting on the couch in his shirt and nothing else. He hurried to unbutton it and leaned into the cushions, enjoying Sherlock’s licks and laps at his big, pink knob and his hairy balls when his mobile chirped again.

“Don’t even think of answering it,” Sherlock hissed when Mycroft grabbed for the phone.

“Sorry, I should have turned it off.” He looked at the display. “Oh, it’s Mummy…”

“Turn it off!” Sherlock growled but then he had to grin. What would Mummy say if she could see them now, Sherlock sucking his older brother off who had just swallowed down his cum? The grin disappeared when Mycroft said: “Let me get it over with her, you know she won’t stop calling until I do, and if I put it off she will start calling on the landline.”

“What, now? Are you mad?”

“I’ll make it swift!” The phone was still chirping, and then Mycroft took the call.

“Shit,” Sherlock hissed and let himself drop in front of the couch. Lucky came to him and he cuddled him while Mycroft greeted their mother.

“Hello Mummy… No, I was just in the garden. I’m fine, how are you and Father?”

Sherlock closed the chaps, took Lucky onto his lap and turned around to lean his back and head against the couch, pressing a kiss on the inside Mycroft’s left thigh. He smiled when Mycroft started tickling his curls.

“No, of course I haven’t forgotten about your birthday... Yes, I will come… I know I couldn’t make it to your seventieth... Yes, the evening before... Oh, Sherlock? I’m sure that he’ll come with pleasure and he told me that he has already gotten you a great present.”

Sherlock tensed and turned around so he was facing his lover again, resting on his knees. He shot a glare at Mycroft who just smiled fondly and winked. “I won’t tell you what it is, Mummy, it’s his secret. But I know you’ll love it!”

“Fuck you!” Sherlock mouthed and Mycroft smiled even broader. The smile froze when Sherlock put the dog on the floor, grabbed Mycroft’s still half-hard dick and started massaging it roughly.

“Ah... What, sorry, I didn’t get that?” He tried to push Sherlock’s hand away but Sherlock held his cock in an iron grip, not moving for a moment.

“Yes, we will come together, Sherlock can drive us with a rent car.”

Sherlock bent over and put his hand down to the base of the now hard member and lapped over the swollen head, and Mycroft moaned into the phone.

“No, it’s just my... back, you know, I made a wrong move and it hurt.” He reached for Sherlock’s face but Sherlock sucked his knob into his mouth and enjoyed seeing his lover roll his eyes in desperate pleasure.

“I will see a chiropractor on Monday, don’t worry about me.” He fumbled at his phone. “Stop that now, what are you doing to me?”

“Present?” Sherlock said with a nasty grin and started licking him again with slow, deliberate movements.

“Fuck...” He put the speaker on again with a trembling finger, his cheeks flushed. “Sorry, can you repeat? The dog is just chewing on my shoes... Yes, I have a dog, his name is Lucky, I thought I had told you... No, Sherlock is taking care of him during the day so he’s never alone... Yes, we get along very well at the moment.”

He looked at Sherlock, and he felt ashamed for a second and stopped teasing him. Then Mycroft said: “You want to invite Dr Watson? That’s a good idea. It will be nice for Sherlock to have him there. He has a girlfriend now he certainly would want to bring with him... Yes, the child, too.”

 _Well, great, having John there and playing Jealous-Sherlock in front of that woman and his parents_... Sherlock narrowed his eyes and when Mycroft sent him a not very convincing excusing smile, he grabbed his dick again at the base and swallowed it down to the root. Mycroft moaned again and grabbed Sherlock’s neck, pushing him down even more, causing him to almost choke at the big intruder. He let it go and pulled back, gasping loudly, and Mycroft took the opportunity to stand up, elegantly sliding past Sherlock.

“That was the dog, he’s chewing on a toy.”

Sherlock recovered in a second and shot up, grabbed Mycroft’s hips and pulled him back while sitting down on the couch himself now. Mycroft struggled for a moment, then he gave in. “You want us what? Oh, I don’t know... Shit... Oh sorry, Mummy, it was just the dog, he just can’t... Oh... behave.”

But it was not the dog who had spread his cheeks and started licking his hole with gusto. Sherlock eagerly forced his tongue into the tight muscle and felt his cock harden again. It was not only because he loved doing this so much, because he enjoyed so much to intrude Mycroft’s body in this most intimate way, it was the sheer naughtiness - and, if he was honest to himself, the perversion - of the fact that their mother was witnessing them having sex, even though she didn’t know it of course. He licked and sucked and felt Mycroft’s entire body shivering while he desperately tried to talk as if nothing was happening, and Sherlock realised that in this situation - like never before since they had become lovers - he couldn’t push the thought aside anymore that Mycroft was indeed and in the first place his brother, and that it made him crazy to just think about that party in which they’d have to face their parents and the entire eccentric Holmes family, pretending to be nothing else than brothers. He knew that this would be a very tough day for him.

“Alright, I will let Sherlock know then that he should invite the doctor... Oh, I see... Yes, I can give you his number of course.” He did so and then he finally managed to end the call and then immediately turned around, freeing himself from Sherlock’s grip. “Sherlock, that was just madness, what if she had... mphf.”

Sherlock closed his mouth with a kiss and forced him on the couch, lay down on him and roughly rubbed his hard dick against Mycroft’s, the friction having them both moan into each other’s mouths.

“Turn around, Sherlock, give me your dick and suck me off,” Mycroft demanded and Sherlock almost hit his head with a knee when he did as he'd been told, and then he let his cock sink again into Mycroft’s hot, wet mouth while he finished what he had begun, sucking and licking and finally swallowing his semen while emptying himself into his lover’s mouth again.

Mycroft pulled him into a tight embrace as soon as he had gotten his breath back. “You are such a little bastard, Sherlock.”

“Mmm,” Sherlock agreed and kissed his throat. “That’s why you love me.”

“Well, actually I wouldn’t say that it is because of that,” Mycroft murmured, and he smiled.

“I’m sorry, but I just couldn’t resist. Your self-control is admirable. Except for a few moans here and there.”

“You know that if _you_ had moaned involuntarily, she would have known that you are there?”

“But I didn’t. And what the hell did you tell her? I don’t have any present for her and I really could live without having John there, as if our crazy family wasn’t enough.”

“I have taken care of the present and it was not my idea to invite John as you might have noticed. What should I have said? I’m sure that you don’t want her to know anything about the little game you are playing with him?”

“No, that’s right. But if she invites him herself, he might tell her anyway, saying he cannot come with his girlfriend because that would hurt my feelings!”

“This is why you will speak with John now.”

“Will I?!”

“Yes. Text him or call him but do it. She will only call him tomorrow she said, but who knows, she might change her mind. Tell him that you are fine with him coming with this woman.”

“But how? I just made him believe again that I’m still in love with him!”

“Use your brain, Sherlock. I’m sure that you will find a solution.”

Sherlock nodded. “Alright.” He felt down all at once, and Mycroft sensed it. He cupped his face with both hands and kissed him.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock. You know she is fond of John and we can’t let her suspect anything. We'll have to behave as normal as possible.”

Sherlock stood up and stalked through the room to get hold of his official phone that he had left in the bedroom. He could actually feel Mycroft’s concerned gaze on his back. When he reached the bedroom, he got rid of the chaps and put a shirt and training shorts on, then he grabbed his phone and threw himself on the bed and wrote a text.

 _John, my mother will celebrate her 75_ _th_ _birthday on September 19_ _th_ _, and she will invite you and Kelly and of course Rosie. If you want, please come. Don’t worry about me and don’t mention anything to her. It’s none of her business. SH_

He wasn’t overly surprised when his phone chirped not even two minutes later. He sighed and took the call and then looked up when Mycroft came into the room, dressed again as well. Lucky was following him and jumped on the bed.

“Hi John.” _What do you want, wasn’t it clear enough?_

 _“Hello Sherlock, wow, I don’t know what to say!”_ _Then don’t say anything_ _and just leave me alone_... _“I would love to come and Kelly will have time, too. She knows almost nobody in England and is glad to meet some people. But are you really okay with it?”_

“I did text you that I am.” _And Kelly will be delighted to meet the wonderful Holmes family. Who knows, maybe she'll leave you for one of my lovely cousins_ …

_“No, you just wrote that I shouldn’t worry about you. That’s something different. It’s your family and I don’t want you to feel uncomfortable.”_

_Don’t worry, I will do if you show up or not._ “It’s fine, John. I’m an adult. But you should take Kelly’s car to go there, I will come with Mycroft and perhaps we'll have to go back earlier; he can always be called back.”

He felt Mycroft sit down on the bed next to him, and then he was pulled back against him. After a second of hesitation, he leaned his head against his chest and enjoyed being held by a long arm and felt a kiss being pressed on his temple.

_“That’s no problem, Sherlock. But are you really sure that you are okay with seeing me with her? I really don’t want to...”_

“I will survive it, John. Perhaps you can refrain from sticking your tongue into her throat in front of me. Listen, I need to run now, so you have a nice weekend, greetings to Kelly and Rosie.”

_“Thank you, Sherlock, you too. And say hello from me to your brother.”_

“I will. Bye.”

Sherlock ended the call and put his phone off again. “Done,” he said, not knowing why he was feeling so empty and pissed off at the same time.

“Sherlock, I know...”

The detective pulled free from his embrace and jumped out of the bed. “You mind if I go down to the gym for a while?”

Mycroft looked at him and smiled sadly. “Of course not, I think I will stay here and have a little nap.”

“I won’t be long,” Sherlock said and then stalked away from the bed. In the door he turned around and watched Mycroft lift the blanket and slip under it, taking Lucky in his arms. Their eyes met for a moment, and Sherlock was about to go back to him, but he felt that he needed some time for himself to get rid of his frustrations.

Sherlock pounded away at the punch bag for half an hour until he was feeling exhausted. He freshened up in the bathroom downstairs, being careful to avoid messing up his bandage again. Then he went back to the bedroom. When he entered it, he stood still for several minutes, just looking at the sight in the bed. Mycroft was sleeping calmly, lying on the side, and Lucky had buried his little head against his chest and was snoring quietly. Sherlock felt an overwhelming love for his two boys and found himself smiling at them; they were his life and he knew that he would never let anything come between them.

He lay down on the bed behind Mycroft and put his arm around him very carefully, breathing in his scent, and couldn’t resist kissing his neck.

Mycroft moved in his arms and opened his eyes.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to wake you.”

“I’m happy that you did. You okay?” He turned around which of course woke the dog. Lucky stretched and yawned, then he jumped down on the floor.

“Yes. Sorry for…”

“There’s nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock.”

Sherlock closed the last distance between them and kissed him, and it was a tender, promising and excusing kiss. “So, what do I have for her?” he asked after pulling away reluctantly.

“Pardon?”

“The present, what is it? I’m sure that it’s wrapped up perfectly already and it might help if I knew what it is.”

“Oh, of course. It’s a silver bracelet, Anthea has chosen it for me.”

“That was nice of her. And nice of you. What will she get from you?”

“I got her an antique clock. I left it both in the office.”

“It’s safe there for sure. What would you like to do now?”

Mycroft reached out under the blanket and his long fingers wrapped around Sherlock’s cock. “How about fucking?”

“Mycroft!” He grinned from ear to ear. “Alright, I will fuck you and whilst we are doing it, you can call Mummy again; I’m sure that there is more to talk about.”

“You are a bad man, Sherlock.”

“Yup. A bad man who loves you like crazy.”

“I love you, too, Sherlock. Please don’t ever forget that.”


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mummy's birthday...A wonderful day with the lovely Holmes family! Get the tissues out, folks!

“Why are you so late, Mycroft?” Mummy asked while she was pressing him against her monstrous bosom.

“I told you we would arrive later than expected when I called you.” He drew back as soon as possible, feeling very uncomfortable in this position. He couldn’t remember having been forced into an embrace by his mother when he’d been a kid, and he could have done without it now.

“But it’s almost eleven!” Now it was Sherlock’s turn to be embraced, and he didn’t look any happier about it. He had not said a word to either of their parents yet but had simply given their father a nod and a handshake and let Mummy pull him close without moving his arms, and Mycroft really hoped he would not keep being that cold to them the entire time. He had promised him to do his best but Mycroft did not expect a miracle, given his bad feelings about their parents and the whole situation. But he hoped that Sherlock would at least try to play his part.

Mummy bent down to Lucky, who was standing there, hesitantly wagging his tail. “Oh, that’s a cute dog. Come here!” Lucky made another step towards her and allowed her to stroke his little head. “I just hope that he won’t get scared by all the guests tomorrow.”

“Don’t worry, he’s not the anxious type. And you shouldn’t have stayed up, we do have a key,” Mycroft said.

“There’s no way we would go to bed without welcoming our boys first!” she protested. “And you can’t tell me that the Prime Minister kept you so long!”

Of course it had been Sherlock who had taken care of not arriving at their parents’ house - about two hours by car away from London - any sooner than necessary, but the PM had indeed added to their delay. Mycroft had planned to leave the office around four, working like a maniac to get everything done before, and only ten minutes before he had wanted to go, the PM and his annoying shadow of a PA had hunted him down with questions of such little relevance that he had needed all his self-control to not get loud. When he had finally managed to leave the office behind him (after telling the PM that he would not be reachable over the weekend) and had hurried home, he had been welcomed by a completely naked Sherlock at the door, and twenty seconds later he had swallowed Mycroft’s cock and that had just been the beginning. They had kissed their way up to the bedroom and Mycroft had offered Sherlock his arse to enter very soon after.

To be fair, Mycroft had let Sherlock have his way not only because he understood very well that Sherlock hated to go to their parents and play hide and seek once more, pretending that their relationship still was what it had been less than three months ago, and therefore had needed to reassure both of them that it wasn’t - not that this had really been in question. Mycroft knew that he had needed it exactly as much as Sherlock. So they had left very late and then the traffic had been horrible. But Mycroft had enjoyed sitting next to Sherlock, holding Lucky on his lap, watching him driving securely and competently. When they had been almost there, Sherlock had parked the car at a hidden spot, and they had kissed for another half an hour in the darkness. And now they were finally here.

“Dr Watson and his lovely girlfriend and the sweet baby have gone to bed already. I gave them your room as it is the biggest of the guest rooms, Mycroft. I’m afraid that you two have to share Sherlock’s room because my dear old friend Wanda has come with her son. It was decided only yesterday that they would also arrive today and so I needed the other spare bedrooms for them.”

Mycroft didn’t have to look at Sherlock to know that his expression had changed. No secret sneaking into the other one’s room would be required. “That’s no problem, Mummy, we will be able to share a room for a night.”

“Sherlock, are you fine with that as well?” Mummy asked. “And why are you so quiet? And, wait a minute, is there a scar in your eyebrow?” She reached out to him but Sherlock stepped back.

“I’m fine with it, I’m just tired, and yes, it is. But I’m quite sure that it won’t be visible anymore in a few weeks,” he added when Mycroft sent him an admonishing gaze for being so snappish.

“What happened?” their mother wanted to know with narrowed eyes, but to Mycroft’s relief their father interfered after having been as silent as Sherlock before. “Dear, let the boys get in first. I’m sure that they are hungry and want to go to bed soon after their long day. We can talk about it in the morning, and I’m sure if anything bad had happened to them, they would have told us right away.”

Mycroft thought that their parents really didn’t know anything about them… But if they found time to get into that subject in the morning, their cover story was that Sherlock had been hurt by a killer on the run. He was sure that Sherlock would love to give them juicy details, inventing them as he went.

For now he and Sherlock brought their suitcases and the bag with Lucky’s stuff into the house and then went into the dining room. Mummy provided them with sandwiches and a glass of wine for each of them, and then their parents excused themselves, having a busy and exciting day ahead of them. After the quick dinner (and a few dog biscuits for the smallest Holmes), the brothers retrieved into Sherlock’s old room. The former child room looked completely different now of course; it was a comfortable but impersonal guestroom with everything they needed, which meant first of all that there was a big, luxurious bed.

Sherlock locked the door immediately and pulled him in for another wild kiss. Knowing that they would be undisturbed until the morning, Mycroft directed him to the bed and they undressed quickly. Then Mycroft let his mouth go down on Sherlock’s muscular body, kissing every inch of his smooth skin until he closed his lips around a leaking, hard cock. After a loud moan had escaped Sherlock’s mouth, he changed his position and stuffed it with his own dick, and they enjoyed another heated 69. He knew that he should feel ashamed of doing that, having sex with his brother under the roof of their unsuspecting parents, but he had to admit that this fact was even adding to his arousal and he knew that Sherlock was feeling the same. That John was only two rooms away, made it only more exciting.

After climaxing into each other’s mouths with muffled moans, they headed under the shower together, brushed their teeth and went to bed; it was long after midnight now. They had brought Lucky’s dog blanket but let him choose if he wanted to lie down on it or on the bed. He chose the bed and Mycroft could feel his warm little body at his feet.

“How are you, Sherlock?” Mycroft asked when his lover snuggled against him, resting his head on his bare chest.

Sherlock tickled his chest hair, searching for the left nipple with a teasing forefinger. “Right now? Great. Tomorrow? Probably not so great.”

“Be strong, baby. It’s only one day. Latest in the evening we will leave, and then the night and the Sunday will be ours at home. And we won’t see anything from them until Christmas.”

“I want to go away with you for Christmas. Somewhere sunny and warm, a place where we can walk hand in hand.”

Mycroft remembered how he had thought of going on holiday with Sherlock in the beginning of their relationship. “Alright, we will do that.”

Sherlock lifted his head and looked at him with doubt written on his face. “We will? Really?”

“Yes, we will. What about Puerto Rico?” Mycroft had read that this was a rather gay-friendly country, and it would certainly be sunny and warm.

“My God, that would be awesome!” Sherlock sounded as if he still didn’t believe it, and Mycroft couldn’t blame him. He knew that he had been literally lucky that their difficult relationship - difficult because of their relation - had been pretty smooth so far. The dog had allowed them to meet a lot more often than he had dared hope for in the beginning, with Lucky being the perfect excuse to be together. Otherwise things would have been a lot more challenging, with constant lying to John as Sherlock couldn’t have provoked an argument with him every day. Probably they would have had to invent a lover for Sherlock that he’d have had to pretend spending the evenings and nights with, and that would have meant even more complications.

Anyway, as things had turned out to be much easier thanks to Lucky, Mycroft had not followed on his plan to go on holiday with his lover. But being at a place where they wouldn’t have to hide their love would be heavenly. Of course they would have to be careful everywhere thanks to Sherlock’s unusual looks and internet presence. But Mycroft was sure that they would find a way to deal with it. He could shave off his curls for example… They would grow again, wouldn’t they? “Christmas in Puerto Rico, that’s the deal,” he promised Sherlock and his heart almost overflew when Sherlock beamed at him.

“That cries for a celebration,” Sherlock stated but Mycroft shook his head with a smile. “We do need to sleep now, honey. I had a very long day and you have driven for two hours and will do the same tomorrow, actually later today as it’s already morning. The day will be difficult, there’s no doubt about it, and we need to rest. But, no reason for pouting, we will celebrate in the moment we come home.”

“Who’s ever pouting?” Sherlock asked with narrowed eyes.

“Nobody. We would never do that,” Mycroft assured him. “Give me one more kiss, and then we'll try to sleep, okay?”

“‘kay,” Sherlock mumbled and the  _ one more kiss _ lasted for about twenty minutes until Mycroft’s eyes fell close.

*****

Mycroft found out that he had really been exhausted when he only woke up at eight, and only because their father was knocking at the door. “Boys, sorry to wake you, but the guests will come at noon, and there’s a lot to be done until then so please come down for breakfast.”

“We will be downstairs in fifteen minutes,” Sherlock promised him. He was already shaved and dressed and smelled like a flower garden.

“Why the hell did you not wake me up?” Mycroft complained while he was trying to force his tired head to move upwards.

“Because you looked so sweet - sleeping like a baby. I would have loved to wake you with a nice arse-lick, followed by an extended fuck, but I figured that might be a little dangerous with everybody out there awake so I just let you sleep. Now hurry, you do look a little crumpled.”

“Well, thanks very much!”

Sherlock smiled. “The longer you glare at me, the later you will be ready.”

“Fucking brat,” Mycroft mumbled and finally got on his feet.

“What was that?” Sherlock asked in an innocent tone, and he just had to grin.

“I said that I love you.”

“So I did hear correctly. Love you, too!” He winked at him and quickly squeezed his left buttock.

Mycroft gave him a broad grin and a wink and finally disappeared into the bathroom.

It was a little more than fifteen minutes later when they entered the smaller dining room, carrying their presents for their mother and of course followed by Lucky, who was wearing a big, red ribbon on his collar. There was no eating in the kitchen at Mummy Holmes’ house and the dinner table was prepared with all sorts of breakfast goodies. They were the last ones to arrive.

Mummy had just ended a phone call when they came in.

“Happy birthday, Mummy,” Mycroft said and kissed her on the cheek. He didn’t really like any physical contact, not even with his family (except for Sherlock of course), but he knew that it was expected.

“Thank you, Mycie. Oh, what a big package, you shouldn’t have done that! Please put in on the board, I will unwrap it right after breakfast, dear.”

Sherlock was the next to congratulate and he looked almost disgusted when he embraced her quickly, and he hurried to pull back and give her his present.

“Thank you, Sherlock, oh, that looks like jewellery!” She put the small package on Mycroft’s. “Now let’s have a quick snack before things get busy. But first, meet my dear friend Wanda Warner and her son, Richard.”

Both men shook hands with a very conservatively dressed, old lady  _ (retired mathematics teacher, widowed, completely frustrated) _ and a neat-looking man in his end-twenties  _ (studies physics or chemistry, still lives with his mother) _ . He had blond hair and a dull face and blushed severely when he looked up to Sherlock. A disturbing thought crossed Mycroft’s mind. Could their mother have invited them because she wanted this jerk for Sherlock? But his mother was busy providing everybody with tea or coffee and didn’t pay attention to them so he couldn’t deduce her.

John stood up when they went to their seats next to him. “Sherlock, Mycroft, so good to see you. This is Kelly.”

“Hi Kelly, nice to meet you,” Sherlock said and shook the hand of the smiling, young woman who was holding Rosie on her lap, and then he stroked the cheek of the baby with one finger.

“Wait a minute, you don’t know her yet?” Mummy said, sounding completely disbelieving. Now she was paying attention.

Mycroft cursed internally. How could they have missed that? Sherlock should have met his flatmate’s girlfriend weeks ago.

“Well, no, it just never happened,” Sherlock said vaguely.

“But I’m glad we meet now, Sherlock, I already heard so much about you,” Kelly said. She wore her shining, dark hair in a neat ponytail and was dressed in a white shirt and light-blue trousers that were matching the colour of her big eyes. The way she looked at Sherlock told Mycroft that she was aware of the problems between Sherlock and John. But she would hopefully not talk about it, especially not while the elder Holmes or any of the expected guests would be there. She seemed to be a very smart, very kind woman, and he would have never deduced that she had been a cop in Special Ops before. She greeted Mycroft equally friendly with a firm handshake and Lucky with some ear-tickling, and then they all sat down at the table to have breakfast together. Except for the dog of course who had been fed by Sherlock already in the guestroom.

When they were finished, Mummy had a look at the presents from her sons. She was excited about the clock and hugged Sherlock after putting on the bracelet. The next two hours were quite busy. The huge dining room, only used for parties, had to be prepared; the long table and the chairs were already there of course, but Mummy wanted fresh flowers from the garden and fruits and bread bought from the market. The warm food was brought by the catering service and needed to be arranged. Their mother was not able to do much because she was receiving phone calls all morning.

Mycroft, Sherlock and Lucky drove to the market to fetch what was still needed, and then they brought it into the dining room where John and Kelly were busy decorating the flowers. Mycroft watched them for a moment. It didn’t need a Holmes to observe that they were very much in love with one another and that they both looked completely happy to have found each other. What an irony that they would have never met if Sherlock and Mycroft hadn’t become a couple and if Sherlock hadn’t gotten a hard-on on a children’s playground while thinking of Mycroft. And they would never know that they owed their happiness to those weird circumstances. A glance to Sherlock told him that he was thinking the same.

He had seen his lover’s mood darkening as soon as they had come back from the market. Seeing John and Kelly together did not make that any better. Of course he wasn’t jealous of either of them, but he envied them for being able to show their love so openly while he and Mycroft had to hide it like a nasty secret, the latter making it impossible for Mycroft to go over to him and make physical contact with him. He only hoped this day would go by as smooth as possible, and he longed for being back in his house with Sherlock to show him once more that their love wasn’t any less real or precious or wonderful just because they had to keep it from an ignorant world.

Now Sherlock was having a look at the place cards that their mother had just put on the tables, certainly making sure that he and Mycroft would sit next to each other. He seemed confident but then made a step back to look at one.

“Grand Aunt Alaranda?” he said with a disbelieving voice. “She’s dead, isn’t she?”

Mycroft couldn’t suppress a chuckle and their mother glared at both of them. “No, of course she is not, Sherlock!”

“But she must be now, what, two-hundred years old?”

“She is only ninety-five.”

“Only, yes. And still completely senile?”

“Sherlock! I want you to treat her with the respect she deserves, as well as all our other guests!”

Sherlock gave her a pretty nasty smile. “I’m treating everybody in the way he deserves, don’t worry.”

_ Oh-oh _ , Mycroft thought. Happy times were certainly waiting…

*****

It was almost noon and Sherlock and Mycroft had retrieved into their room to get dressed for the party like the others. Sherlock admired his lover in the mirror while he was putting on his tie. He usually never wore any but Mummy had insisted on it, and Mycroft had given him the spare one he had brought. Only he would bring a second tie on a one-day-trip. He smiled and Mycroft caught his gaze and raised his eyebrows.

“What’s so funny, honey?” he asked and embraced Sherlock’s waist from behind. Sherlock bent his head to rest it on his shoulder, inhaling his expensive eau de cologne and the beloved scent of pure Mycroft.

“Just you, Mycie.”

“Oh, I see. Always happy to make you laugh at me.”

“I would never do that.” Sherlock turned around and their lips met for a kiss while he was letting his hands slide over Mycroft’s firm arse. He was looking devastatingly handsome in his black Armani suit, a silver shirt and a dark-grey tie. Sherlock was wearing a black suit, too but a white shirt and now a dark-blue tie.

The kiss grew more passionate and Sherlock’s throbbing cock was looking for his equal and found it hard and big.

“We gotta stop that, Sherlock, or we will never get downstairs. I will rip your fancy suit off and take you instead.”

“Oh, please,” Sherlock whispered in his mouth. “What will you do to me? Tell me!”

Mycroft chuckled. “I will fuck you, nice and slow at first, and then deep and rough.” He moved his hips so his cock rubbed over Sherlock’s and the detective moaned against Mycroft’s neck. “I will do that, Sherlock, but not now. Tonight, when we come home. And only if you show your best behaviour today.”

Sherlock sighed. “You are a nasty racketeer. And now you’re sending me down there to these  _ people _ with a hard-on?”

“Of course not. Just think of drivelling Grand Auntie Alaranda poking her rheumy finger into your stomach and calling you  _ Nancy _ and I’m sure that it will crumple up right away.”

“Done,” Sherlock said dryly. “Alright, I can hear someone is coming into the house. Showtime. Lucky, come on.” He took Mycroft’s hand and guided him to the door _. I want to go down with him like that. Holding his hand, letting them see how much we love each other. _

“So do I, Sherlock,” he heard Mycroft say and their eyes met. “I wish so much that we could do that.”

Sherlock flung his arms around him and pressed him as tight as he could, knowing that he was crumpling both of their suits but not caring about it. It was nothing sexual about this contact, it was just pure need. They stood there like that, silent, just holding each other, until Sherlock forced himself to set his lover free. “Alright, let’s go.”

“I love you, Sherlock.”

They met for another short kiss. “I love you, too, Mycie.” Then he took a deep breath and unlocked and opened the door to go down celebrating and talking to people he had not seen in years (as both he and Mycroft had skipped the party of Mummy’s seventieth birthday and their father never celebrated his), in the knowledge that he would have been much happier if he never had to see them again.

*****

Sherlock thought that it was rather convenient that all guests arrived within a very short time so he had to plaster the false smile onto his face only once and could keep it until he had greeted everybody before turning around and letting it fall down. There were ten family members stumbling into the house, so with Sherlock, Mycroft and the parents, plus John, Kelly and Rosie and that strange friend of his mother and her son - who was blushing whenever Sherlock looked in his direction - there were fifteen adult people, three teenagers and a baby, and the foyer was definitely overcrowded. The chattering of the bunch was ear-shattering, and he saw Lucky run away into a quieter part of the house. He sighed, wishing he could follow him, with Mycroft at the hand of course.

He looked over to his man and saw him talking to Uncle Mortus as if he couldn’t think of anything more pleasant. How great he was at that, pretending to enjoy a conversation with an old, wrecked alcoholic who was certainly dying to get his hands on a drink. Sherlock was grateful that a woman from the catering service would provide the guests with beverages so at least he wouldn’t have to give the waiter.

“Sherlock, it is so nice to see you again, you were almost still a child when we met last time!”

He sighed internally. But it didn’t help, he had promised Mycroft to behave and he didn’t want to risk not getting fucked by him later. “Aunt Klikide, yes, how  _ are _ you?” He did not really listen to her reply but made sure to nod or smile when it seemed required. Finally she let him go and went to her husband.

It took quite some time until everybody was seated at the table where the lunch was already waiting for them. Sherlock took place next to Mycroft; John and Kelly had their seats opposite of them with Rosie in a highchair between them. Next to Sherlock on the other side his mother had placed Richard Warner, and judging from Mycroft’s look when the guy sat down, he was thinking the same as he was. Well, if Mummy seriously expected Sherlock to connect with this idiot and present him as her son-in-law, she could wait until she was also two-hundred years old, and then Sherlock would still love Mycie…

He glanced over to Grand Aunt Alaranda who was sitting in her wheelchair, which looked as if was exactly as old as she was. “Why does she still use this wheeled wreck? She’s as rich as Bill Gates!” Sherlock said to Mycroft.

His lover chuckled. “I think she keeps it for sentimental reasons. Her husband was still alive when she got it. Forty years ago.”

“But she’s completely crazy now; Aunt Hallumenia could buy her a new one.”

“I think she tried but the old girl got mad when she saw it.”

“Define  _ getting mad _ when you are already totally bonkers.”

He heard Kelly laugh and looked over to her. “You are so funny, Sherlock,” she said. “I’m so glad to finally meet you.”

Sherlock was a little stunned. “Well, I am, too.” He glanced at John, who was watching him with a grateful smile and a warm glow in his eyes. “It’s not easy for me, but, you know… as long as John is happy, I’m too.” He had figured out that Kelly knew about his  _ feelings _ for the doctor the moment he first saw her and thought it was a good idea to relate to that. He felt his thigh being pressed very softly and put his hand down to squeeze Mycroft’s, hidden by the table cloth. John looked as if he was about to cry and Sherlock thought the day might not get as bad as he had expected.

“Dear guests,” Father said loudly now, “my beloved wife and I are so happy that you are all here today to celebrate with us. I’ve been graced to be at her side for more than forty years now, and I enjoyed every single day.”

“Don’t, Sherlock,” Mycroft said very quietly and Sherlock stopped his eyes before they could start rolling, and grinned. Under the table his hand was still on Mycroft’s, and he gently stroked it with his thumb.

“She has given me two wonderful sons and… I will always be grateful for that.”

“Forgetting your lovely daughter, Daddy?” Sherlock mumbled, audibly only for Mycroft’s ears. Apparently their parents had not told the family that Eurus was not dead but had turned into a murderous monster.

“And your sons have graced you with great grandchildren!” Uncle Tormus threw in. “Oh wait, no, they haven’t.” He grinned and looked around, waiting for applause, but nobody reacted; only his sons, Maron and Mingus, grinned at him.

Sherlock looked over to him, and when the white-haired man caught his gaze, his grin disappeared.

“Be calm, Sherlock, you know him. He’s the master of cruel, bad jokes,” Mycroft tried to soothe him. “Just ignore what he says.”

“I will,” Sherlock mumbled. Father continued swaggering for some time longer about how much he loved his wife and how proud he was and so on, and the food was getting cold. Finally Mummy shut him up and Sherlock filled his plate, taking care of providing Mycroft with everything he liked as well. While he was eating, he looked around. Next to Uncle Tormus was his wife Klikide - a rather nice appendage to the Holmes family, a quiet woman with ruffled grey hair and a melancholic expression. Which was no wonder considering who she was married to. She had never worked but had devoted her life to serve her arsehole of a husband and her four nasty children: Maron and Mingus being the older twins, both living from their father’s money, and the daughters Jolanna and Juleva, both overweight to the extreme and giggling all the time. But now they were busy gulping down their food as if they had not eaten for days, and their manners were disgusting. Klikide looked at them as if she wanted to admonish them, but then just concentrated on her own plate, apparently resigned.

At the other side of the table, there was Uncle Tormus’ twin Mortus, the notorious alcoholic. He seemed to skip eating and was devouring a double whiskey, while his wife, the not-so-lovely Aunt Hallumenia, was apparently forcing their daughter to eat, and from the deadly looks the skinny teenage girl was shooting at her, not to her delight. Sherlock couldn’t really remember his cousin Charsis, not even her name if Mycroft had not told him. She was fifteen and at the height of puberty, wearing black from head to toe and a piercing in her lip, and it was clear that she hated her parents from the bottom of her heart. Sherlock couldn’t blame her at all, having a heavy drinker as her father and that malevolent spitfire as her mother.

And of course, next to Hallumenia was her mother, the eldest surviving Holmes, the one and only Alaranda, murmuring something he couldn’t understand, hunting down the food on her plate with her fork and making horrible noises whenever she missed it until Hallumenia ripped the cutlery out of her fingers and started feeding her.

Mycroft was talking to Kelly and John, making nice conversation, a gift that Sherlock was not graced with. He listened to them with half an ear while he was enjoying his meal, and winced when the man on his other side spoke to him. “So, Mother said you are a detective. Is that like on telly?”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. “Exactly like that, yes. Very exciting.” He went on eating and splayed out his left leg a bit to make contact with Mycroft’s right one. His lover reacted by pressing his thigh against his, and Sherlock felt grateful to have him so close. Of course it was not close enough by far.

“So, you live in London?” Richard continued. “I would like to move there, too. Your mother said your flatmate will move out soon and I thought, you know, perhaps…” He broke off, afraid of his own courage.

Sherlock almost choked at a piece of fish. How dare his mother stick her nose in his business and make this nobody hopes to move in with him? There was nothing he had rather done now than putting his arm around the neck of the man he loved and showing this lame duck who he belonged to. But of course he couldn’t. Instead he grabbed the plate with the roast beef and handed it to the surprised Richard. “Try this, it’s delicious.”

“Sherlock, could you give me the French Fries?” Kelly asked him and he handed the bowl over to her.

“How do you like England?” he asked her, grateful to be able to concentrate on somebody else.

“Oh, it’s great,” she said with shiny eyes. “It was the best decision of my life to come here. I don’t know how much John has told you about my past in New York?”

He had told him nothing and Sherlock said that, even though he knew a few things from Martha of course. Kelly explained what she had done in the US and how things had turned out so badly that she had not been able to go on. She told him and Mycroft her story without a hint of self-pity, and Sherlock realised that she was indeed a very likable woman. And John obviously adored her and loved her much more than he had ever loved Mary, let alone Sherlock. And they would be getting married soon, Sherlock realised. It was only a question of weeks until John would leave Baker Street for good, and Rosie would not grow up as a single child. And then he also realised that Kelly was drinking nothing else but water and was obviously already pregnant. They were happy and would have a beautiful, memorable wedding and a family together, and he and Mycroft would forever be the Holmes brothers, the strange, lonely, single men even their own family was making fun of.

He could feel his mood darkening with every further thought and he fell silent again, not even reacting to Richard’s attempts on doing small talk anymore. He avoided meeting Mycroft’s concerned looks, and he was grateful when the plates were put away and everybody received a bowl of strawberry ice-cream. Lunch was almost over, and he had survived it. More or less. Perhaps it would be possible to steal a few minutes alone with his man. But after the dessert had been devoured, Mummy asked everybody to come out to the terrace so they could talk better with each other.

*****

Mycroft was dying to be alone with Sherlock, even if it was only for a few minutes. He had literally watched him getting depressed right next to him, witnessing John’s and Kelly’s happiness, and certainly he had noticed that she was only drinking water. The annoying kid on the other side of him had not helped either. He was definitely here to make a move on Sherlock, and it must be killing his brother to not being allowed to tell him to go to hell.

Mycroft wanted to cheer him up but he didn’t see a way to sneak away with him for a moment. He was about to suggest looking for Lucky, who had disappeared when the guests had arrived, but when he and Sherlock left the dining room before everybody else, he was sitting outside waiting for them. And Mummy told Mycroft to guide everybody outside while she was hurrying to take the next phone call. So he shushed the guests on the terrace but returned to the hallway where Sherlock was still leaning against the wall with a sad expression on his face. “It’s only for about two or three more hours, Sherlock,” he whispered. “Then I will text Anthea to call me and we can go.”

“Do that now, please!” Sherlock begged him. “I don’t want to be here.”

“It’s not that bad, Sherlock, please, be strong. It means so much to Mummy to have us here.”

“She’s hardly talked to us, Mycie. Probably she wouldn’t even notice if we left.”

“Of course she would, she’s just busy. Think of our plans for tonight. If you want, we can drive to a hotel so we won’t even have to wait until we are at home.” But even while he was suggesting that, he realised that it wouldn’t help.

“Alright,” Sherlock said in a toneless voice, “if you don’t want to leave now, I'll have no choice but to go out there and be  _ nice. _ "

“I want to, Sherlock, but I think that we'll need stay for a little while longer.”

“ _ You _ don’t want to stay,  _ I _ don’t want to stay, but we are good boys and do what  _ our parents _ want.”

“Please, Sherlock, don’t be so passive-aggressive to me. You know that…”

_ I love you _ , he wanted to say, but in this moment their mother came back from her phone call. “Why are you standing here? Get out to our guests, now!” The phone rang again and she turned to take the call.

He slightly touched Sherlock’s hip when they went through the door but Sherlock didn’t look at him. He bit on his lip and grabbed a chair to sit down next to John while Sherlock crossed the room to get himself a soft drink from the bar that had been set up at the other end of the terrace.

“He’s not feeling well, is he?” the doctor said, and he tensed. “It’s hard for him to watch me with Kelly, I knew it, of course I did. But he is nice to her and I totally appreciate it.”

“Where is she?” Mycroft asked, just to distract his brain from Sherlock’s unfriendly behaviour. He knew that he would calm down eventually but it hurt him to be rejected. But of course it had to be that way. He had forced Sherlock to come here and now he forced him to stay even though he was feeling bad about it.

“Oh, she’s in the garden with Rosie. She’s so great with her.”

“She’s pregnant, isn’t she?”

The doctor winced. “Oh man, I should have known that you would notice. Does Sherlock… Yes, of course he does.”

Mycroft nodded. “Yes. When will you move in with her?” He saw his father grabbing Wanda Warner’s arm and guiding her out of the room; she was pale and was holding her stomach. Mycroft hoped that she wouldn’t vomit on the floor.

“Sometime next week. I just couldn’t tell him so far, Mycroft. I didn’t even tell Mrs Hudson. I will go on paying my rent for at least three months more but I just don’t want to wait anymore. It’s all happening very fast, I know, but, she is the woman I have waited for all my life. I mean, look at her, and she’s as every bit as beautiful on the inside as she looks. We will be getting married in about two months. And… there will be no more cases. I won’t have time for that anymore. I can work more hours in the hospital now. It’s the end of an era, I know, I hope that Sherlock understands.”

“Well, do you want me to tell him?”

“Would you do that?” John seemed to be very relieved. “I know I should do it myself, but when I told him that I’m seeing her, it was… not so good. He might take it better if you told him. I would really appreciate that.”

“Then I will do it. Will you invite him to your wedding?”

“Of course I will! And you, too, this time. But it will be a small wedding, only a civil ceremony, no church, no white dress. Perhaps we will do that next summer but we want to be married before the baby comes… How do you think Sherlock will take it?”

_ Oh, I don’t worry about that at all _ . “I will do my best to break it gently to him. I should go looking for him now, he’s indeed a little sad.”  _ And not because of you _ .  _ Well, in a way it is because of you and Kelly… _

He had crossed half of the huge terrace to go to Sherlock, who was leaning against the glass wall, sipping at his Coca Cola, Lucky sitting next to his feet, when Aunt Hallumenia hit his leg with Alaranda’s wheelchair. “Oh, sorry, Mycroft. Can you look after her for a moment? I need to go somewhere.”

“Sure.” He looked down at the wrinkled, old woman who was staring up to him with watery blue eyes. “Rudi, look at you, your hair is falling out, never thought that would happen.” She giggled like an old witch. “And your nose is so big!”

“I’m not Uncle Rudi, Auntie,” he said, knowing that it didn’t make sense to correct her. “I’m Mycroft.”

“What a silly name! Rudi was much better.”

“Yes, if you say so.” He looked around in the room. Mummy and Father were not back, young Charsis was arguing with her father Uncle Mortus, who had another whiskey in his hand, looking a little deranged already. Jolanna and Juvena were eating some more sandwiches with bored faces, their father was not showing his ugly face at the moment. John and Kelly were the only ones who seemed to be enjoying themselves. They were sitting close, apparently in their own little universe, the doctor having his daughter on his knees.

“Rudi, will you dance with me? Why is no music here?” came from the wheelchair and he sighed. He was very grateful when Hallumenia was back and provided the old woman with a glass of water. He turned around and went to Sherlock, seeing that poor Richard was standing two metres away from him and was admiring him wordlessly. And that the nasty cousins were talking to him _. Shit _ …

*****

“So, Sherlock, you still do this detective thing? Being cleverer than everybody else?” Maron asked and his brother Mingus grinned at Sherlock.

“I do. And do you still sell drugs to your friends?” Sherlock retorted and saw him blush.

“What are you talking about! I don’t do that!” But sweat appeared on his pimpled forehead, and Sherlock knew that his deduction had been correct.

“Of course you don’t. Why should you, with your daddy being so rich. You keep them all to yourself.” He watched Maron getting even redder but he was apparently missing the words to reply. What a shame. Arguing with stupid people was just dull. Were they Holmeses at all?

“The blond guy is Dr Watson, isn’t it? Man, he brought quite a bombshell. I always thought you were shagging him,” Mingus said instead.

Sherlock looked at Mycroft, who was coming to him. “That’s a common misunderstanding. I have never done and never will.”

“Oh yes, the virgin, I forgot. Don’t you want to have, you know, your gay arse opened up?”

Sherlock saw Mycroft narrow his eyes. “Why, are you volunteering?” he replied with a sunny smile before his lover could say anything. “Let’s just go into the garden and you can show me what you have. Can’t be much though as far as I can see from here so I think I’ll wait for someone who’s more hung, but thanks for the offer.”

Mingus got a dark-red head but he didn’t reply and just stormed off, followed by his brother.

“My God,” Mycroft said. “What a jerk! But nicely retorted!”

“I learned from the best,” he answered with a smile. “I’m sorry for before, Mycie,” he said very quietly so Richard couldn’t hear him. “I hope that my bad behaviour does not disqualify me for getting what you said you would do to me. And you mentioned a hotel?”

Mycroft smiled at him. “Not in the least. You will get it. And if we find…”

“Oh, that’s little Nancy over there! Look at the curls!” they heard the croaky voice of Alaranda. She was moving her old wheelchair with her own arms and Juneva could escape in the last moment before she could crash into her.

Sherlock sighed. “I’m not cousin Nancy. Who is dead for twenty years by the way. I’m Sherlock.”

“Yes, I remember, you always run after that fat kid like a little dog. Who was that?”

Mycroft sighed, too. “That was me.”

“No, Rudi, you were always slim and sexy.”

Sherlock couldn’t suppress a grin about hearing such a word out of that old crow’s throat.

“I’m not Rudi, I’m Mycroft, and I was the fat kid.”

“What did you say to my boy?” Uncle Tormus was crossing the room with long steps, apparently fuming, and Sherlock saw Mycroft tense.

“To which one? The dealer or the closeted gay?”

“You arsehole! You think you are something better, you should see your arrogant face. You live in London and play detective instead of doing decent work and then you come here and insult my sons!”

“Oh, you’re right. What exactly do your sons do for a living? Oh, I forgot, they live on your expenses. And what did you do to earn this money again? You got if from your father, right. So please don’t preach about working,  _ Uncle Torment _ .”

He saw Mycroft facing away but not fast enough for Sherlock to miss that he was grinning.

“Tormus!” his uncle corrected him with a red face.

“Right, I’m sorry. Do you want a drink while I’m standing at the bar?”

“I’m sure that you drink a lot!” 

_ Oh, how weak _ . “Could it be that you confuse me with your dear brother?” He wondered how red his face could get before the head would explode. But there was no danger that he would get hit by pieces of brain as there was none.

“I always said that he would get gay,” Alaranda croaked. “This fat kid. No decent woman would take such a fat man.”

Sherlock caught Mycroft’s gaze. He wasn’t grinning now. “He’s not fat anymore, Auntie,” Sherlock said. “He is slim and trained and he doesn’t give a shit if women want him or not.”  _ Because I want him and I will show him again tonight how badly I do _ .

“Yes, Mycroft, what about you? You're sitting in your office all day and are so important. And still no wife and children, even though you've been wearing a fucking wedding ring for ages now. Are all men in London gay? Is it something in the water?”

Sherlock saw Mycroft’s gaze wandering to Uncle Tormus. His beautiful, blue eyes resembled ice once more. “I don’t think I need to discuss my sexual preferences with you,  _ Uncle Torture _ . I tend to keep them to myself.”

“Tormus!” he screamed. “And I bet you do, you just fuck yourself because you are so fucking important!”

“Listen, sir, perhaps you can turn your voice down a bit and refrain from using such words. There are children here.”  _ The voice of reason, aka John Watson _ . The doctor was coming to Sherlock and Mycroft with Kelly at his hand and Rosie on his arm. Kelly looked as if she had preferred being anywhere else than here, and Sherlock couldn’t blame her.

“And who are you? Sherlock’s fuck buddy in London?”

John narrowed his eyes. “Sir, I’m warning you.”

“You are warning me?! Oh, I’m shivering!”

Mycroft knew that he would always regret not having listened to Sherlock; they could already be on their way back home instead of being in such a discussion. And he knew that Sherlock had not started it. It was interesting though to see John Watson getting pissed off now. He just hoped he wouldn’t take to physical violence. As nice as it would be to see their nasty Uncle being transported to a hospital, it was Mummy’s birthday after all - a day that was supposed to be nice and peaceful and not hostile and depressing. But John was holding the baby so he would hopefully refrain from beating the old man. And he hopefully had not brought his gun.

And then finally Mummy and Father came back on the terrace. Probably they had brought Wanda into her room and made tea for her.

“So, how are my dear guests?” Mummy asked, not sensing the mood in the room.

“Your dear guests? Ask you bloody sons and their nosy friend!” Uncle Tormus hissed.

“Please, can we all calm down now,” Mycroft said with a quiet voice. “This is a party and there is no need to be…”

“This git insults my sons and me,” Tormus pointed at Sherlock, “and this one is so arrogant that it comes out of his ears!” This was directed at him, Mycroft figured.

“Mycroft, Sherlock, what is happening here?!” Mummy demanded to know.

“Really, it was just a little argument that got out of control,” Mycroft said. “We'll just forget that now and have a good time.”  _ And I will immediately text Anthea to have her call me. _

“I’m very disappointed by you two,” their father said. “You have brought so much pain to this family already, and now you cannot even behave on such a day.”

“What?” Sherlock asked with a surprised laugh. “You must be kidding! Ask the others who did not behave! And what do you mean,  _ we _ brought pain? I may have, but Mycroft never did.”

“You know exactly what I’m talking about, Sherlock,” Father said with a stony expression.

“Oh, yes, of course. But I thought we were not telling anybody that Eurus is not dead,” Sherlock said with his deep, loud voice. “I thought that was our nasty little secret.”

“Sherlock!” Mummy croaked with wide eyes. “How dare you say that!”

“You know, our sister is not dead. You all remember her, Eurus? Of course  _ you _ don’t, Auntie Alaranda, but anyone of you?” He looked around. “She is still alive, she has just killed a few people and needs to be kept locked away.”

“Sherlock,” Mycroft said, “please.” But the cat was out of the bag already, wasn’t it?

“I can’t believe that you shame us in such a way, Sherlock,” Mummy said. “You hate us, don’t you? You always treat us so badly, and you don’t even visit Eurus anymore so why are you bringing this up now?”

“Yes, I hate you,” Sherlock said with a cold, hard voice that didn’t leave any doubt that he meant what he said, and Mycroft heard sighs of terror all around them. The doctor and Kelly looked at him with wide eyes. “I hate you for having treated Mycroft like shit when he told you about Eurus, I hate you for not giving a damn for us, for not accepting either of us the way we are.”

“How can we accept your lives if you do drugs all the time, Sherlock, if you let someone shoot you and never tell us who, and if the only grandchild we will get from either of you is a dog!” Mummy brought out.

“We are gay, get used to it!” Sherlock shouted. “And he is the best dog of all!”

“How do you know at all, you are not willing to try anything with anybody. Neither of you has ever brought anybody home to us. You just work all the time,” Father looked at Mycroft, “and you play silly detective games. It’s time to grow up and get a real life! You are both so miserable, you are a shame for your mother and me!”

Almost total silence followed his words. Even Uncle Tormus had shut up. The only noise was a quiet growl from beside Sherlock’s feet.

Mycroft couldn’t believe what he had just heard. His heart was beating so fast that it hurt, and he could hardly breathe. He saw the look of anger and hatred but also pain in his brother’s eyes. He knew damn well that Sherlock had always longed for their parents’ acceptance when he had been young, but his younger brother had given up years ago, and he had distanced himself from them completely after Sherrinford. And still he was hurt by these cruel words.

“Sherlock,” he quietly said, and haunted blue-green eyes turned to him. “Please go upstairs and grab our stuff. I'll take Lucky. We’re leaving.” Sherlock nodded and hurried inside the house. The doctor called his name when he almost ran past him but Sherlock didn’t react.

Mycroft looked at their parents, feeling his pulse slow down. “I’m sorry to hear that we are such a disappointment to you. I can only return this compliment. All you did all our lives was criticizing us. You've never asked Sherlock why he was taking drugs, you've never cared about my career. And I won’t even mention how you have failed Eurus. You should have never even had children. Sherlock has known that for a long time and I always defended you, I don’t know why. If you want to see Eurus in future, contact my PA, you have the number, she will arrange everything. I don’t wish to see or speak to you ever again. And now enjoy your fabulous party.”

He turned to leave when his mother started to speak. “I’m so sorry, Mycie. I don’t know how that could happen. We love you, both of you. Please forgive us.”

Mycroft didn’t have to play the Iceman when he answered. “No, you absolutely meant what you said. And that’s fine with me. I don’t need you and Sherlock doesn’t either. Goodbye now.” He looked over to John and Kelly. “I’m sorry, really, I’m sure that you have hoped for a more pleasant day. Thanks for your support, John.” The doctor nodded in his soldier way, and then Mycroft walked past the still silent guests and went inside. Sherlock was just coming down the stairs with their suitcases and Lucky’s bag, and he hurried to help him. Three minutes later Sherlock started the car. Mycroft, who was holding Lucky, didn’t throw a last look at the house they had grown up in. He knew that they would never return.

Nobody said a word while they were driving down the gateway and onto the street, but a few minutes later Sherlock drove into a small way until they were out of sight from the main street, and stopped the car.

“Mycie,” he just said and his eyes were wet. “You have no idea what this means to me.”

“Oh, come here,” Mycroft pulled him close and they kissed tenderly for some minutes but it was more than a kiss - so much affection was transported between them: love and comfort and gratitude. It was Sherlock who carefully broke the contact.

“Are you really fine with that, Mycie? Never seeing them again? I don’t want you to hate me someday for that.” He had not heard what Mycroft had told their parents, but of course he knew it.

“Sherlock, I would never hate you. And the only thing that I’m not fine with is that I forced you to come here with me in the first place, and that I refused to leave when you asked me for it. Please forgive me, Sherlock.”

“Oh Mycie, I love you…” He pulled Mycroft in for another kiss. “And now this is what is left of the Holmes family. You and me.” He looked on Mycroft’s lap. “And our sweet little baby here.” He touched Lucky tenderly.

“You two are the only family I need, Sherlock.” Mycroft touched the dog, too, and see him roll his little brown eyes in pleasure. “As long as I have you, there’s no need for anybody else.”

They kissed again. “But,” Sherlock said, “I really can’t say I behaved well today. So I guess my chances of being fucked by you tonight are very slim.”

Mycroft nodded. “Indeed. Because we will arrive at daylight, and I’ll fuck you at once.”

Sherlock smiled. “Do you want to go home, or find a hotel?”

“That’s up to you. I’d prefer if you drove us straight to London even though we’d have to wait longer. But I want to be at home with you, to love you in our bed.”

“So do I. Let’s go then.” And he got them back on the street to bring them back to London, bring them home.

*****

They didn’t stop driving until they reached Mycroft’s house. They rarely spoke and when they did, they didn't say a word about what had happened. Mycroft had silently rejected a phone call and then put his phone off. Sherlock had not even bothered bringing his official phone and of course their parents didn’t have the number of the new one. Mycroft did tell Sherlock that John would move out in a few days, and Sherlock felt very relieved and happy about it. He had not solved any cases together with John for weeks already as the doctor had been away all the time during the day (and many nights as well), and Sherlock had either stayed over with Mycroft or had returned to 221B very late (and very reluctantly), and they had not talked to each other much more than saying  _ hello _ and  _ good night _ . So regarding work, not much would change for him once John would move out; he would have to keep the flat though for meeting clients there and of course because he just couldn’t move in with Mycroft without raising suspicion. But he would be finally free to sleep at his house every night without anyone questioning it. And he would definitely do it tonight.

Mycroft hurried into the bathroom downstairs as soon as they entered his house for an obviously pretty urgent pee. Sherlock went up with the suitcases and did the same in the upper one and headed under the shower to wash off this horrible day. He knew very well that it had been kind of his fault that this argument with their uncle had escalated that much. And in fact, if he had just ignored the teasing of the twins, it would probably have never happened, but there had been no way that Sherlock could have let them get away with their awful behaviour. So he had actually provoked everything that had happened, and of course Mycroft knew that, too. And still Mycroft had not been mad at him but had broken with their parents instead. Sherlock would never forget that he had done that; of course their parents had attacked both of them, but in the end Mycroft had done it for him.

He had just washed his hair when Mycroft entered the shower. Sherlock looked into his eyes, blinking away the pouring water, and put both hands flat on his chest, letting them slide through the black, thick hair, and then let his thumbs play with his big nipples. “I’m sorry, Mycie,” he said and Mycroft smiled.

“Don’t be, Sherlock. It’s the two of us against the rest of the world now, and that’s how it should be.”

“Three,” Sherlock reminded him and Mycroft pulled him close. “Of course.”

And then he kissed Sherlock’s lips, and their tongues starting dancing with each other. Sherlock let himself fall into this kiss, let the love it transported from Mycroft to him touch his soul and wrap his racing heart into warmth and security.

Then Mycroft put off the shower and let his big hands run over Sherlock’s back and arse and Sherlock rubbed his cock on his groin. Then long fingers were being wrapped around hard dicks, stroking, massaging, pulling, and then Mycroft’s right forefinger teased Sherlock’s hole, entered him, rubbed his most sensitive spot, and Sherlock moaned into his mouth.

Finally they parted to get out and dry each other off before they stumbled into the bedroom, kissing and making out again, and then Mycroft urged Sherlock to lay down on the bed and slipped behind him, and soon after a now lubed finger was inserted into Sherlock’s needy entrance, then another one, and finally his arse was being filled by a hard, hot, wet dick. Sherlock urged backwards in Mycroft’s embrace, taking him as deep as possible, and he moaned loudly when Mycroft's thick member hit his prostate and his lover’s long fingers grabbed his hard dick and started massaging it roughly.

So far no more words had been spoken, but now Sherlock hissed: “Take me hard now, Mycie, please fuck me real hard.”

And Mycroft rolled him onto his stomach carefully and then thrust into him powerfully. Every time he slid in deeply, both of them moaned, and Sherlock’s wet, throbbing dick rubbed over the mattress, and his hands clenched into the linen. The air was filled with panting and moans and the clashing of hips on arse-cheeks, with sweat and need and excitement and hunger.

Sherlock screamed when the waves of an overwhelming orgasm crashed through his body and brain, and then he spilled thick streams of cum onto the bed, and moments later he felt his lover erupting into his body, hot fluid was shooting up his arse and then he was pulled in the tightest possible embrace and Mycroft murmured  _ I love you, I love you, I love you _ , and he knew that if he had to die in this moment, he would die a happy man. Both of them dozed off short after, still entangled into each other; right before he fully fell asleep Sherlock felt something warm and soft hopping on the bed and snuggle against his chest, and he put his arm around the little dog and smiled, feeling comfortable and safe, surrounded by all that mattered to him in this world.

*****

He woke up about an hour later from the movement of the bed and turned around to a freshly-showered and smiling Mycroft, who was wearing casual shorts and a t-shirt and looked just great.

“Get up, honey, perhaps you want to shower, too, while I change the linen.”

“What for? We will mess it up in an hour again anyway,” Sherlock mumbled and Mycroft laughed.

“Probably we will do that a little later. I thought we could take Lucky for a walk in the park, he didn’t have much opportunity to run around today.”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock tickled the dogs head; he was still lying next to him and wagged his tail. “I’m a bad Mummy, poor dog.”

“No you are not. Just too keen on having sex with Daddy.”

“Too keen?” Sherlock narrowed his eyes while he was rolling out of the bed.

“Sorry, of course never  _ too keen _ ,” Mycroft soothed him and stood up as well. They met for a tender kiss and then Mycroft gave him a slap on the arse. “Now go showering, I will get things done here and feed Lucky, and then we'll go outside. Oh, but before, call John.”

“Why? Why do I always have to call him? Do you want to play matchmaker for us? It’s a little late for that, don’t you think?” He knew that he sounded a little childish, but he just didn’t want to speak to John now.

Mycroft just lifted one eyebrow and calmly retorted: “Because if you don’t call him, he will show up here as soon as they are back. Probably they already are and he has tried to call you a million times, your phone is off, remember? I somehow doubt that they stayed much longer after our departure.”

“No, probably not, being it so nice there and all,” Sherlock agreed. “Okay, as usual you are right, I will call him right now, before showering.” To get it over with as soon as possible.

“I wouldn’t say I’m always right, Sherlock,” Mycroft said with a sad smile, and Sherlock hurried to kiss him.

“Even you are allowed to make a little mistake, Mycie.”  _ Especially if I make it much worse than it has to be _ … He switched on his phone while he was walking downstairs, followed by Lucky, and saw that he had more than a dozen missed calls. Their fucking parents, John, Martha, parents, Martha, John… He decided to speak to Martha first and dialled her number while he was walking into the living room. She was very quick in answering the call.

“Oh Sherlock, what happened there? What John told me, it must have been awful!”

“Well, let’s say there won’t be any more Christmas visits there, Martha. I will tell you the details when we meet on Monday.” He was very determined to stay with Mycroft the entire rest of the weekend. “I just wanted to let you know that we are fine, Mycie and I. We have our love, and we have Lucky, and that’s enough. And I will call John now and soothe him.”

He wished her a nice weekend, finally sat down on the couch, and then he called the doctor who also took the call right away. “Sherlock, I was just about to come over to Mycroft’s house.”

_ Thank God I caught you before _ … “There’s no need for that, John, we are fine. Well, Mycroft is indeed a bit shaken,” he added, realising it would give him more reason to stay until Monday morning. “And sorry I just ran out without saying goodbye to you, but I was pretty upset.”

“I can imagine very well. But what happened before, why did your uncle get so loud?”

Sherlock told him about the argument with the cousins, making their role a little bigger than it had been and leaving out the part with him provoking Mingus by mocking the size of his penis.

“What a bastard,” John said. “I wonder why you didn’t beat him up.”

Sherlock laughed. “I tried to not let things escalate. But somehow that didn’t work anymore when Uncle Tormus got going. Thank you for trying to shut him up, John. That was nice.”

“I should have rather shut up your parents, Sherlock. What they said, it was horrible. First your father blathered in his speech about how proud he was of you and Mycroft, and then this.”

“Yes, well, I was surprised that he said this at all. They have always been cold to us,” Sherlock said. He had never spoken with John about his childhood, and actually it was the last thing he wanted to do now.

“Your brother was great, Sherlock, he was so cold himself when he told them that he never wanted to see them again. And now you say he is not feeling well?”

_ Shit _ … “He meant what he said, John, and we will never see them again. But now he is, you know…”

“Yes, I guess what happened there doesn’t even leave an Iceman cold. I’m glad that you have each other, Sherlock, he likes you so much, you will be able to make him feel good again very quickly I’m sure.”

Just for a moment Sherlock wondered if John knew anything. “I'll do my best,” he said carefully. “He’s all what’s left of my family now.”

“I’m sure that you will.” John didn’t sound saucy at all, and Sherlock came to the conclusion that he still had no clue. “By the way, I don’t know if… he already spoke to you.”

“About you moving out next week? Yes he did.” Sherlock was glad to move on to another subject.

“I’m sorry, Sherlock, really, I will pay my part of the rent for quite a while longer, but… it all happened so fast, and Kelly… She will have a baby, we only learned about that two days ago.”

“Well, you are not wasting any time, John,” Sherlock said, remembering his role of the unhappy-in-love friend.

“It wasn’t planned, but we are very happy about it.”

“Well, it will be nice for Rosie. And I’m sure that Mary would understand.” He couldn’t do without a little knock.

John was breathing heavily now. “I know it’s too fast after her death but…”

“Life goes on, John.” What was the point in torturing him?

“Yes. And I won’t be able to help you solving cases anymore, I will work more hours in the hospital from next month on, only day shifts, and with two little kids…”

“Don’t worry about that, John, that’s past. Just as I am.”  _ Bam _ … A little torture had to happen.

“I’m so sorry that I’m pushing you through all this, especially now! But I want to be still friends with you, please say you are not erasing me out of your life?”

“It rather sounds as if  _ you _ did that, John.” He heard the doctor gasp. Damn, he had to say that and yet he didn’t want a confrontation at all. He had better things to do.

“No, I don’t, Sherlock, really, you are my best friend and you will always be.”

“We will see how this works out, John. Perhaps we can meet once a month for lunch or something.”

“Sherlock…”

“Let me run now, John, I'll need to take the dog for a walk now. Don’t worry about me, I’m a big boy. Thanks again for standing up for me, I appreciate that. And greet Kelly and Rosie.”

“I will. Thank you for calling me, Sherlock, and I hope that you and Mycroft will be fine.” He still sounded sad.

“Bye, John, talk next week maybe.”

“Of course! Bye, Sherlock.”

Sherlock sighed and ended the call, and his phone starting chirping immediately. His mother. Instead of rejecting the call, he took it. “Wasn’t Mycroft clear enough in what he told you? But perhaps you think that only he doesn’t want to talk to you again for the rest of his life. That’s not the case, he did speak for both of us.”

“Sherlock, please,” he heard his mother beg. “Your father didn’t mean what he said. You are our boys and we love you.”

Sherlock felt his entire body tense and he balled his free hand into a fist. Lucky looked up to him and started licking his bare foot, and he immediately relaxed and smiled at him. But he didn't smile when he went on talking. “No, you don’t,” he said with a voice Mycroft would have been proud of. “And we don’t love you either. There’s a lot I could say to you, but I don’t like to waste my time. Leave us alone, both of us. Forget us like we've already forgotten you.” With this he turned his phone off and threw it on the table.

“That was nicely said,” Mycroft stated. Sherlock looked up and saw him standing in the door.

“I love you, Mycie,” Sherlock said plainly and got up to go to him. He was welcomed by a tight hug and a kiss.

“I love you, too, Sherlock, and that’s all that matters.” He pulled free and gave him a peck on the forehead. “Go to the shower now, honey, and I will feed Lucky.”

Sherlock kissed him on the cheek and hurried back upstairs.

*****

When they approached the park bench they usually used, it was occupied by an elderly couple. When Sherlock and Mycroft both silently stared at them, standing two metres away with their arms crossed, they hurried to get up and walk away, turning their heads to look at them a couple of times, and Sherlock sent them a friendly smile.

Sherlock started throwing the ball for Lucky, glad to feel the sun on his face. Soon enough the days would get colder. He longed to take Mycroft’s hand and felt getting depressed again that he couldn’t. They had gotten rid of their parents so they would never have to play the Holmes brothers for their family again, and soon enough Sherlock would not see John at all anymore in Baker Street, but besides that, the problems were still the same. They had kept a wide distance to each other when they had slowly walked to the park and now there was almost a metre between them. Since Edinburgh they hadn’t dared share even the slightest touch in public (except for their kissing in the car but nobody could have seen them in their secluded spots). Sherlock watched the couples walking by hand in hand and he hated that they couldn’t do it. He knew that it was redundant to always think about that, but he also knew that he would never be able to accept this unfairness.

“What do you want to do when we come home?” Mycroft asked him, clearly sensing what was on his mind and wanting to cheer him up.

“Well, we haven’t played chess for ages,” Sherlock said earnestly. “I also thought about doing some cleaning in the house and then leave to Baker Street and do the same there.”

“Sherlock...”

He grinned, already feeling much better. “I want to lick you, Mycroft. Every inch of your beautiful body.”

He heard Mycroft swallow. “Any parts you will pay special attention to?”

“I won’t neglect any part. But of course, there are one or two that might get a more intense treatment.”

“And what parts could that possibly be?” Mycroft picked up the ball that the dog had just brought and threw it, not looking at Sherlock at all.

“Not sure, I do like your shoulder blades,” Sherlock teased him. Talking like that made him want to touch him right now even more but it also turned him on and in a way calmed down his emotional desires.

“You do. Anything else?”

“Everything, Mycie.”

“Sherlock...”

He chuckled. “You want me to go on? Talking dirty in public?”

“There’s nobody who could hear us, Sherlock. Except for Lucky and he has already heard and seen it all.”

“Alright, in this case... After kissing and licking your neck and your collarbones and these naughty nipples that the tip of my tongue likes so much, I would probably lick my way down and just lap over this nice, thick, round, purple head of yours. You know, these little drops that tend to pearl out of it are quite tasty. Are you not sitting comfortably?”

“Not that much right now, no. But don’t worry, go on.”

Sherlock grinned. “Where was I?”

“You were describing these drops of pre-cum that use to come out of my knob.”

Sherlock shivered and slightly shifted a leg. Mycie did know how to talk dirty, too. “Oh yes, right. I might lick a few up and then feed them to you with my tongue, what do you think?”

Mycroft made a strange little noise. “Sounds good,” he mumbled.

“Yes, I thought you might like that. You know, taste yourself on my tongue. And I guess then I will start sucking you a bit. Not so hard that you would come into my mouth, not yet. First I would direct my attention to your big, firm, hairy balls. I love to suck them into my mouth really hard, you know, suck them in and then roughly lick at them.”

“Why am I enjoying so much to be tortured like that?” His voice sounded a little strained.

“Because you know that as soon as we get home, I will do everything I’m telling you now. Move your legs so I can see it, Mycie,” Sherlock demanded. Of course he was hard as well.

Mycroft, who had crossed his legs to hide his erection - probably just by instinct as there was nobody except for Sherlock who could have seen it - did as he was told. The big bulge almost drove Sherlock crazy. He would have died to just open the zipper and suck him off.

“So, anything else you will do?” Apparently Mycroft still didn’t have enough.

“Sure. I will make you turn around so you are lying on your stomach, your erection pressed on the mattress by your weight. And then I will spread your cheeks as far as possible and lick your hairy, little hole. You know, I wish it was easier to get my tongue in there. I love your taste their and the heat and how you moan when I lick you there. And I will let my fingers open it up for my tongue; I will spread it until I can watch your inside, this red flesh, and I will spit in it and then open it up even more and then I will insert my tongue as far as I can.”

“Dear God, what are you doing to me?”

“Everything you want to, Mycie. Oh, see, Oscar is coming!”

“Shit,” Mycroft hissed and crossed his legs again and Sherlock laughed.

They had met the young hacker a few times since he had spoken to Sherlock about giving them money for going away together. Sherlock had seen how tense Mycroft had been at first, not knowing how to deal with that, but Oscar had not mentioned his conversation with Sherlock and had not made any remark about their relationship, and eventually Mycroft had relaxed. They had spoken about the weather or life in general and of course their dogs, and Sherlock had been pleased to see how well Billy had recovered from his injuries. He had still walked a little stiffly but he had not been in pain anymore and had been doing great. And now Sherlock saw him running around with Bobby.

“Hi,” Oscar greeted them when he had approached them, Lucky dancing around his huge dogs. “I didn’t expect to see you here today. Isn’t it the big day today? The party?”

“Oh, yes,” Sherlock said. “Well, it’s already over.”

Oscar looked at him inquiringly, then at Mycroft. “It wasn’t good, was it?”

“Not really, no.”

“Oh God, did they find out about you two?” Oscar asked quietly after turning around to make sure nobody was near them. It was the first time that he spoke it out.

Sherlock chuckled. “No, nothing like that. But we should have just kissed in front of them in the end, Mycie. They would all have died of a heart attack, the old people at least. That would have been a lot funnier.”

Mycroft grinned. “Actually yes, it would have been. But you would have had to kill the survivors as it just can’t come out.” This was addressed at Oscar, Sherlock was sure.

“No problem. None of them would have been a loss to the world.” In fact Sherlock would have loved to introduce a nice, little patience grenade to his beloved family.

“So bad?” Oscar asked. “Care to share what happened?”

Sherlock looked into Mycroft's eyes. “Why not,” the older man said, and then they told the young hacker what had made the birthday party such a special one. He listened with wide eyes. In the meantime Sherlock had moved closer to Mycroft so Oscar could sit down next to him.

“Families,” the hacker spat out when they were finished. “The worst thing in the world.”

Finally Sherlock realised that Oscar wasn’t his usual happy self today. “Your son?”

Oscar nodded. “My bloody ex-wife has just moved back to Kentucky where she’s originally from. She has sole custody and I guess I will never see my boy again.” He almost choked at the last words.

“But even if she has sole custody, you must have been allowed to have a word in that,” Mycroft said and threw the ball that Lucky had just brought him. All three dogs started chasing for it but Lucky was a lot quicker than his two huge friends and brought it back to Sherlock triumphantly. Sherlock called him a good boy and let him run after the toy again.

Oscar had watched the dogs with a small smile. “I could have tried, yes. But what’s the point? He doesn’t want to see me. The brain-wash was very successful.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Sherlock said.

“Yeah, well, I guess I'll need to accept it. Wish I could distract me with having some fun, you know.”

“You mean sex?” Sherlock asked and both Oscar and Mycroft laughed.

“I think he’s speaking of his little hobby,” Mycroft said. “But I would appreciate if you kept it in legal ways and left the palace alone above all.”

“Legal is boring,” Oscar retorted with a grin. “But I certainly won’t bother the Royal Family again, I can promise you that.”

“That’s highly appreciated.”

“You could ask him to plant some child porn on the PM’s computer,” Sherlock suggested.

“Sherlock!” his lover admonished him. “That was not nice.”

“But it wouldn’t be a problem for me, technically I mean,” the hacker assured them. “Just let me know and I will do anything for you. I really mean that. I owe you so much, and well, I don't know you very well, but I like you.” He blushed when he said that.

“I just wish things had turned out better for you,” Sherlock said honestly.

“Perhaps, one day when he’s grown up, he might change his mind. That’s what I hope for at least.” Oscar leaned back. “You know, I would like to ask you something personal; I know it’s none of my business and you don’t have to tell me...”

“Yes, we do have sex with each other,” Sherlock said before he could finish his sentence. “Plenty of it.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft shook his head with a disbelieving grin.

“What? We do, don’t we?”

“Yes but...”

“Actually that was not what I wanted to know,” Oscar said with a grin. “I would have not dared ask you that, even if it hadn’t been very clear to me that you indeed do. I just wondered how that happened. And when. I mean...”

“You want to know if we've been sleeping with each other since Sherlock had been an innocent minor? If I seduced my helpless little brother?” Mycroft asked with a raised eyebrow. “No, it just started about three months ago.”

“I would have never implied that you took advantage of him,” Oscar hurried to explain. “I’m sure that not even when he was a minor, he could have been talked into doing something he didn’t want to do. I just wonder how it started. I mean, you don’t just say:  _ hey brother, I think you're hot, let’s have sex _ .”

“Not quite, no,” Sherlock said and could hardly refrain from touching Mycroft’s leg that was being pressed nicely against his. “In fact, we have loved each other for twenty years before a horrible situation brought me into his bed, very innocently I have to stress, and then we finally realised that we want each other exactly the same way. Until then, our relationship had been a long and awful story full of every possible bad feeling.”

“Perfectly said,” Mycroft agreed and tickled Billy’s big head that had come to rest on his knee.

“Wow, so you were unhappy in love with each other for two decades? And you had never noticed that your feelings were reciprocated?”

“Rather stupid for such smart people,” Sherlock said with a nod. “But we are making up for that now, believe me.”

“I can imagine. But... it must still be so hard, to hide it from everybody and pretend you still feel like brothers.”

_ You have no idea _ , Sherlock thought. He just hoped that Oscar wouldn’t repeat his offer to make them rich to Mycroft. He just couldn’t endure hearing him say that it was not an option for him to go away with Sherlock.

“We were not that successful in hiding it from you,” Mycroft said thoughtfully instead of referring to it.

“Don’t you worry about me, I've already told Sherlock and I will tell you too, I will never give your secret away. Not only because I have enough secrets myself but because when I first saw you looking at each other, I thought  _ these men are severely in love _ . I thought I must have gone mad when you told me that you are brothers, but when I saw you again - at first not recognising you from a distance - you were sitting right here, your hands were touching, but then you parted as soon as you saw me, and then it was clear to me that you are brothers  _ and _ lovers.”

“You are a very good observer,” Sherlock stated. “We didn’t realise how openly our feelings showed on our faces.”

“They did show, and they still do, especially in your body language. I thought at first sight that you were a cute couple.”

“Cute?” Mycroft raised his brows.

“Yes, cute,” Oscar insisted and Sherlock laughed.

“Don’t call the British Government cute if you like to keep your head.”

“British Government?!”

“Oops.”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft smacked Sherlock’s thigh. “Don’t listen to him, he’s just making fun of both of us,” he assured Oscar.

“If you say so. Well, I guess I should do some more walking with my boys and from the way you were acting when I came here, you might want to go home soon.”

“Damn, is there anything you don’t see?” Mycroft said with a wry grin.

“Not much, no. I hope that the rest of your day will be nicer than the start.”

“Oh, most definitely,” Sherlock assured him. “We already had a bit of comfort sex and will have some more as soon as we close the door behind us. Sherlock!” he anticipated Mycroft’s reaction with a wink and Oscar laughed loudly.

His lover just shook his head with a grin. “I'll give up. You will never be able to behave.”

“Nope,” Sherlock agreed with a popping  _ p _ . “Bye, Oscar, and don’t give up hope.”

“Yeah, perhaps someday…” Oscar said and sighed. “Take care and have fun.”

Sherlock cuddled the big dogs. “We will.” He watched the younger man leave with hanging shoulders and then called Lucky, who was apparently unwilling to leave his two friends. “Let’s go home, Mycie. Time to do what we spoke about.”

*****

They walked back rather slowly; it was getting dark and cool, and Mycroft shivered. When he opened the door of his house, Lucky ran into it, and he turned to Sherlock. “Alright, shall I get the chessboard or the mop for you cleaning the floor?”

Sherlock looked surprised for a second before he grinned. “We could play strip-chess, you know. Or I could clean the floor naked, just offering you my arse. You could fuck me while I’m cleaning.”

Mycroft closed the door. “I see. So either way, it would involve sexual favours.”

“Without a doubt. “

Mycroft smiled when he was pulled into Sherlock’s arms and the full, soft lips met his. Their kissing was sweet and extended, their hands sliding over each other’s back and Mycroft could feel Sherlock’s hand rubbing his crack, their groins were pressed together. But somehow Mycroft’s body responded less than it usually did, and of course Sherlock noticed it. “Is everything alright with you?” he asked in a concerned tone.

“Yes, of course. I just feel a little… smashed, even though we slept earlier.” In fact he was feeling dizzy and exhausted all at once, and it had to show on his face because Sherlock immediately slung an arm around his waist.

“Mycie, come on, let’s get you a seat.” He guided Mycroft into the living room and helped him settle on the couch with his legs up and a few pillows stuffed behind his back. Lucky jumped on his lap at once, while Sherlock took off his shoes.

“Don’t worry, Sherlock, I’m fine, really,” Mycroft tried to soothe his lover, who was looking at him with troubled eyes.

Sherlock provided him with a glass of water that he thankfully accepted. “I’ll get you something to eat, just lie back and relax,” he commanded.

Mycroft nodded and watched him stalk away. “Mummy’s worried, Lucky, but I’m just an old man who is allowed to be tired from time to time, don’t you think?” Lucky yapped and he gently touched his little head. “Right, furry face. I’ll just close my eyes for a moment.”

The moment must have had lasted longer than he had expected; when he woke up it was completely dark outside and inside the room. “Sherlock?” he asked and his lover was at his side at once.

“I didn’t want to wake you up. How are you feeling?”

“Still a little tired, that’s all. It’s been a long day.”

“A long, awful day,” Sherlock specified.

“Not all of it, honey. I’m sorry to have killed the sexy mood,” Mycroft apologised.

“Mycie! But before we go to bed - for sleeping! - you should eat something. Let me reheat the soup if that’s okay with you.”

“Sure. Thank you, Sherlock. Have you eaten anything at all?”

“No, but I will have something with you then. Be right back.”

They ate together and then walked upstairs. Mycroft told Sherlock that he didn’t need any help in climbing the stairs as he was not an invalid.

But Sherlock was very concerned. “Is anything hurting? Do you need a doctor?” he asked when Mycroft had undressed and slipped under the blanket.

“Sherlock, I’m just tired. Don’t make such a fuss. Tomorrow morning I will be as good as new and then we can have all the sex you want.”

Sherlock winced and Mycroft grabbed his arm. “I’m so sorry, baby, I didn’t mean it like that.” He knew all too well why he had said that. Because he was feeling like a loser to not be able to make love to Sherlock right now; perhaps he could have forced himself but he knew that he would have just failed miserably.

But Sherlock was hurt and he showed it. “It’s not just about sex for me, you know. Yes, I do want you all the time, but that’s just because it’s my preferred way to show you my love and to feel close to you. I really don’t want to be a pain in the arse, sorry, no pun intended…”

Mycroft pulled him closer. “Please don’t be hurt, I love you and I want you every bit as much; I can’t even tell you how much I enjoy our encounters. I don’t know why I feel so flat right now. Would you please join me and hold me?” He needed to feel Sherlock now, to know that he had forgiven him his careless words.

“Of course.” Sherlock smiled and settled himself beneath him so Mycroft could rest his head on his shoulder blade. The blanket was stuffed tightly around him and two strong arms were holding him even tighter. And there was no danger that he would get cold feet as they were being warmed by a living heating that was soon starting to snore.

“You would tell me, Mycie, wouldn’t you?” he heard Sherlock whisper.

“Tell you what? If I needed a doctor? Of course I would. I’m fine, really.” His eyelids were so heavy right now, willing to fall close again.

“And if you didn’t want to be with me like that anymore.”

“Sherlock!” He opened his eyes again and moved his head so he could catch Sherlock’s gaze. “This is never going to happen! I will want and desire you until the day I die.”

“I love you so much, Mycie. You may never die.”

Mycroft knew that there was no point in getting into this subject, let alone now. His body was crying for sleep, and he didn’t have the strength to fight it. This day was just taking its toll after breaking with their parents and all the other relatives, drawing a red line beneath their entire past. “I love you, Sherlock, and I wish I could give you what you need now,” he said with a heavy tongue.

“I need you,” he heard Sherlock quietly say, a warm finger gently touched his cheek, and before he fell into a healthy sleep, his last thought was that he was feeling safe and protected.


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Times are getting difficult... Very difficult... Not much joy in this chapter!

When Mycroft opened his eyes, he noticed several facts at once. First of all, it was already day, the sun was shining into the bedroom. He was feeling refreshed and fully awake in an instant… and he was alone. He remembered too well what he had said to Sherlock; how he had more or less accused him of being only interested in sex with him. He knew how stupid that had been; he knew so well how much Sherlock loved him and that he would never demand anything from him that he was not able to give. And in the bad state he had been the evening before, he wouldn't have succeeded in making love to Sherlock. But Sherlock had not asked him for it, not after realising his exhaustion. Mycroft cursed himself for having reacted so stupidly only because he had felt ashamed about not doing well. He got up to see if Sherlock was anywhere in the house, perhaps he was making breakfast. But then he saw a note on his nightstand and grabbed it.

_ Hey darling, Lucky and I went for a little jog. Coffee is ready and I made sandwiches for you, they are in the fridge. I’ll be back soon, hope that you are feeling better. Love you. SH _

Mycroft smiled happily when he was reading Sherlock’s kind words. He hurried to get into the bathroom and took a shower, then he brushed his teeth and shaved. While he was looking at his face in the mirror, he realised that Sherlock had not included any sexual tease in his note, nothing like  _ When I come back, I will have a second breakfast: You _ or  _ I can’t wait to do what we had planned for last night.  _ He really hoped that Sherlock didn’t think his advances would be just endured or, even worse, that Mycroft didn’t want to have sex with him at all anymore. He would make sure that this misunderstanding would not stand between them for any second longer.

When he came back into the bedroom, a towel wrapped around his waist, Sherlock just entered the room from the other side. He was wearing a damp white t-shirt and blue training shorts; his hair was wet from sweat and his cheeks flushed. Lucky came up to Mycroft and he tickled his little head.

“Hi,” Sherlock greeted him with a careful expression in his eyes that almost broke his heart.  “How are you now?”

Mycroft didn’t answer but ripped off the towel and closed the distance between them to wrap his arms around Sherlock’s slim waist and kiss him fiercely. After a second of hesitation Sherlock gave into the kiss and Mycroft felt his big hands on his back when he embraced him.

Sherlock broke the kiss much too soon for his taste. “Mycie, are you really feeling better?”

“Oh yes,” he mumbled. “Can’t you feel it?” He pressed his growing erection against Sherlock’s groin. Lucky looked at them curiously and then ran out of the room.

“I do,” Sherlock whispered. “But I don’t want you to do anything with me because you think you have to.”

“Sherlock, listen to me,” Mycroft said while he was grabbing Sherlock's shoulders. “I don't believe at all that you are just with me to have sex. I know that you love me, and believe me, the sexual desires are completely mutual. I was just feeling bad yesterday, physically, and I was afraid I would not be able to satisfy you, and that made me react so stupidly. Please forgive me, honey. I love you and I want you, and I want you now.”

Sherlock gave him a genuine smile but then his face grew darker again. “I thought you were just tired? But now it sounded as if it was more. What was wrong?”

Mycroft shrugged. “I don't know. From one moment to the other I was feeling exhausted and dizzy. But it must have been yesterday's stress. I feel completely recovered now, trust me.”

“I still think you should see a doctor, Mycie. Make an appointment tomorrow, would you?”

“I will, if I find time. But may I touch you now, please?” He didn't wait for an answer but embraced Sherlock again and buried his face in his long, elegant neck, taking in his scent of sweat and sweetness.

“Mycie, stop, let me shower first,” Sherlock protested but Mycroft just grabbed the hemline of his shirt and pulled it up.

“Take it off for me,” he demanded, and the order-voice worked. Sherlock got rid of his shirt and without any further hesitance, his shorts as well. Mycroft started kissing and licking his damp skin and then lifted Sherlock's right arm and licked on his armpit.

“No, don't,” Sherlock objected but Mycroft just increased his efforts, enjoying tasting the salty sweat, and then he licked down on his sensitive side to playfully bite into the soft skin over his prominent hipbone. His hand found Sherlock's hard cock blindly and took to beating it roughly. The moan that escaped from Sherlock's lips sent a shudder through his body, and he got down on his knees and started licking Sherlock's heavy, pink balls while he was still rubbing his dick.

“Please, blow me now,” Sherlock begged and he obeyed with a smile, swallowed down Sherlock's dripping dick in one go. He pulled back to let his tongue circle around the soft head under the foreskin and enjoyed the hard grip of Sherlock's hand on his shoulders. He moved his hands from the thighs he had been holding onto to Sherlock's wonderful arse, grabbing his cheeks firmly, while he was sucking him with increasing power.

“Fuck, why can I never last longer,” Sherlock hissed and then he emptied his balls into Mycroft's mouth. Mycroft was immediately after pulled on his feet, so fast that his teeth scratched over Sherlock's cock when it dropped out of him. And then Sherlock's tongue slid into his still full mouth and he let a part of Sherlock's cum flow over to him, the naughtiness of this act making his dick even harder than it had already been. And then Sherlock pushed him backwards to the bed and crawled up on him as soon as he had settled on it.

“I thought you needed a shower,” Mycroft teased him.

“Later. Now I will worship you.” And he did. At first he placed his naked body flat on Mycroft's, plundering his mouth again in a deep, passionate kiss. Then he kissed his way down his throat and took to drawing lines with his tongue over his collarbones, pressing wet kisses on the bushy, thick hair on his chest until he started licking and sucking at his nipples, pulling at them playfully; the sharp, sweet pain was sending shudders through Mycroft's body. He grabbed his dick and started stroking it but Sherlock pushed his hand away. “No no, be patient, I'll take care of it as soon as I'll get there.”

“But I love to do that while you are doing these delicious things to my nipples,” Mycroft explained and reached for his throbbing manhood again.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Which part of  _ worshipping _ do you not understand? Take your hands off your fucking dick or I will shackle them!”

“Alright alright,” Mycroft pulled his hand back and grinned. And moaned when Sherlock was licking down to his navel and drawing circles around it, and dipping his tongue into it. “Please, Sherlock, don't torture me, see what you are doing to me?” He pointed at his knob that was dark purple and shimmering with wetness.

Sherlock smiled. “Torture was not really on my schedule. But still: big, hard, little Mycie has to wait some more.” With this he grabbed Mycroft's waist and rolled him on his stomach, very carefully as soon as his cock hit the mattress. “Comfortable?” he asked.

“Not really,” Mycroft mumbled, having his hard dick pressed between his body and the bed. But then he felt his cheeks getting spread by strong hands, and a hot, wet tongue licking at his hole, and he moaned into the pillow. He closed his eyes and just gave into the sensation of Sherlock licking his crack, his perineum, the underside of his balls and most of all, his quivering manhole. Finally Sherlock lay down on his back and he could feel how hard his lover was again, his dick pressing into his arse-crack, sliding between the cheeks. “Put it in me, Sherlock, fuck me,” he begged hoarsely.

“You want that, yes? Have my big dick up your sexy arse?” Sherlock whispered in his ear.

“Yes, please, honey, don't let me wait.” He could feel cold lube being rubbed into his hole, the soft head of Sherlock's cock was being pressed against his muscle and then he was in him, filling him up, claiming him, and he pushed back against his hips, urging him to take him even deeper. His heart was racing and he knew that he would get pushed over the edge very soon. But it was Sherlock who came first with a low growl, filling his passage with his hot seed.

“Get up now, come into my mouth,” Sherlock ordered him and lay down on the bed.

And Mycroft kneeled over him, beating off with his right hand until he felt his climax crashing through his body, and he came in hot spurts over Sherlock's face and in his beautiful mouth.  Then he let himself drop on his body, feeling worn out and exhausted and very happy.

“We both need a shower now, Mycie.”

“Yes, soon. Just hold me for another minute, would you.” And he enjoyed feeling Sherlock's strong, warm arms around him and knew that life would never get any better than this.

*****

They spent a lovely morning, enjoyed a late lunch (after another steamy sex session) and then they took Lucky for a long walk. When they returned to the house, Mycroft checked his phone. He found eleven missed calls from his mother, six from Albert Scott, and two from Anthea. He sighed and Sherlock looked at him. “Mother?”

“Yes, as well as Scott and Anthea.”

“I guess you will call her back?”

“Only Anthea,” Mycroft tried a little joke but Sherlock's face didn't show the hint of a smile. “I will keep it short.”

“Sure. I'll feed Lucky in the meantime.” He turned to go to the kitchen, and Mycroft sighed and then returned the call. It was indeed short but it would mean the end of their cosy weekend.

When Sherlock came back into the living room, he had to look at Mycroft's face only for two seconds before he said in a resigned tone: “You are going to the office.”

“I must, honey. You remember the traitor I chased some weeks ago? The phantom?”

“Sure. I guess he is not a phantom after all.”

“No, he's not. The MI6 caught one of the men involved in the Russian matter, and he confirmed that they had been warned by a person in a very high position. He couldn't provide them with his identity but it's not a rumour or suspicion anymore. So again we'll have to try to find him.”

“But if he or she hasn't done anything new, what's the point in trying again if you couldn't find him with your possibilities the last time?”

“The chances are slim,” Mycroft agreed. “But the PM is raging and we have to go through all of it again.” He reached for Sherlock's hand. “I'm sorry, darling. I would prefer so much staying with you.”

Sherlock shook his head. “It's not just that. I'm worried about you. You would have needed more time to recover.”

“Recover from what? It was nothing, dear. I'm doing fine. And I'll come back as soon as possible so we can have a nice evening together.” His lips found Sherlock's for a deep kiss that was reciprocated to his relief, and it felt so good to be in these strong arms once more.  “I love you, Sherlock. Please wait for me.”

“Of course I will. If I'm already sleeping, wake me up.”

“I won't be so late!” Mycroft protested but Sherlock just nodded and said: “You'd better leave now before the PM sends this Scott guy to bring you there.” He sat down on the couch, immediately joined by Lucky, and Mycroft said goodbye and left. He desperately hoped that they would find this damn traitor so life would be back to normal very soon.

*****

When his alarm woke him up the next morning, Mycroft was completely confused for a moment. He reached out for Sherlock only to find the back of a leather couch, and then he remembered the horrible last evening. They had gone through all of it again, trying to find the rotten egg in the organisation, with no result. When Mycroft had decided to finally leave at ten, he had received a phone call and learned that another mission had failed in Russia, causing the death of four MI6 agents. It had been a shock for all of them, and it was clear that he would not be able to go home that night; he would be lucky to catch a few hours of sleep in his office. He had texted Sherlock of course to let him know, but he had not received a reply.

He looked at his phone now, it was seven, much too early to get up after getting to sleep around three, but there was so much to investigate now and to talk about. They just needed to find the person who did harm to the country, a person nobody suspected of being the worst sort of criminal. But of course he would go home in the evening. He remembered his promises to Sherlock very well, and that he still had not received an answer to his text told him enough about his lover's feelings. He needed to speak to him but it was too early to call him.

“Good morning, sir,” Anthea startled him. “Sorry, I did knock.”

“That's alright. I'm afraid I'm not really awake yet. Good morning, Anthea.”

She smiled at him. “Coffee is ready if you like some, and I will get you some sandwiches. You need to eat something.”

“Thank you, that's greatly appreciated. I will shower and shave first so please bring it in around ten minutes.” Anthea had not stayed the night but Mycroft was sure that Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin had not left their offices. He had just finished his breakfast, dressed in the spare suit he was keeping in his office, when the PM stalked in. He looked as if he had not showered, let alone shaved, and was wearing his crumpled suit from the day before. He had probably slept in his Downing Street office. Mycroft greeted him with a lot more respect than he usually showed the man.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes. Not that anything was good about it.” He let himself sack into the chair before Mycroft's desk.

“Any news, sir?” Mycroft asked even though he was quite sure that there weren't any.

“Nothing. The killers are still on the run. And nobody knows who told them that our men were coming. We have to find him, Mycroft!”

Mycroft was surprised about the use of his first name. “Yes, we do, and we will. If he or she makes a mistake, it will be over.”

“But what if not? I know, it was a rhetorical question. I just can't believe that any of our people would do that, sell information to our enemies, causing these men to die and damage our country.”

“Sir, we are all on it. Eventually we'll find out who it is.”  _ And then God rest his soul _ .

The PM got up. “Please come into the meeting room  _ Victoria _ in about five minutes. There must be something we can do.”

“I'll be there.” Mycroft watched the PM go and then he called Sherlock, sod the early hour. He was relieved when Sherlock took the call right away.

_ “Hi Mycie. You are still in the office? And you wrote that there are new developments?” _

“Yes, honey.” Mycroft explained what had happened in Russia.

_ “That's really bad news. I hardly dare ask you but… will you come home tonight?” _

“I will, I promise you. Everything that can be will be suspended, there will be no more important missions in the next days.”

_ “That might make it even more difficult to find the traitor.” _

“I agree. But we can't risk losing more people.”

_ “Sure. I miss you,”  _ Sherlock said quietly.

“And I miss you like crazy, Sherlock. If possible, I would have come home last night.”

_ “I know. But promise me that you will take care of yourself. Did you have anything to eat at all?” _

Mycroft was touched by his concern. Sherlock, the one who had not taken care of himself his entire life until three months ago, was worried that he didn't eat enough. “Anthea just brought me breakfast, don't worry about me.”

_ “But I do. I love you, Mycie.” _

“And I love you. Times will get better again soon, I promise you. I need to go to the first meeting now. I'll be in touch as soon as I can.”

_ “Alright. Bye for now.” _

“Bye.” Mycroft ended the call and stood up. Sherlock was taking it better than he had expected. But the worry in his voice was disconcerting. He didn't want Sherlock to think that he was in any danger of losing him. Tonight he would be at home and no matter how tired he would be, he would fuck him senseless just to prove him that there was no reason to be worried about him. Okay, not only because of that…

*****

Sherlock put his phone back into his pocket and entered the front door of 221, letting Lucky go in first. He was feeling tired from a night of just rolling around in bed, at first waiting for Mycroft to come back, and then, after getting his text that told him that he wouldn't, feeling down and desperate and too worried to sleep. Eventually he had given up and had taken Lucky for a long walk and then he had gotten ready to leave for Baker Street. He had not wanted to stay in Mycroft's empty house any longer.

He shut the door behind him quietly, but Martha must have heard him because she opened her door. “Sherlock, dear, why don't you come in for a moment.”

He nodded, quite grateful for not having to go in his empty flat right away. Perhaps John was there but that wouldn't cheer him up in the least. Martha greeted Lucky with tender touches and then she asked Sherlock to sit down and have tea with her. He had skipped breakfast as he had not been hungry at all and had felt kind of sick.

“Sherlock, you look so sad,” Martha stated when she sat down opposite of him. “I knew that it would be hard for you two. I would really like to have a talk with your parents.”

Sherlock smiled. “That's a kind offer, but my mood has nothing to do with them.”

“Oh. Oh, please don't tell me that you and Mycroft have split up!”

“No, not that I know of.”

“Not that you… Sherlock, what happened?”

He sighed. “He didn't come home last night.” He saw her eyes widen. “No, I mean, he couldn't get away from work.” He knew that he was about to tell her top secret matters, but he trusted her unconditionally. She had proven more than once that he could, so he told her about the traitor and what it meant for his lover.

“I see, Sherlock. That's really bad, but it doesn't mean that he is about to leave you. I'm sure that he would have preferred coming home!”

“I don't doubt that. But on Saturday he behaved so strange. He kind of passed out before my eyes and then told me he was just tired. He even more or less accused me of being only interested in sex. He was doing a lot better yesterday so I believed that it had just been the aftermath of that bloody day with our parents, but then he confessed that he had felt really bad. I can't believe that he didn’t tell me right away.”

“But Sherlock, you know him, he always wants to be the strong one, the one in control - let alone to you. He wants to be your hero, your tower of strength; it's no wonder that he doesn't want to tell you that sometimes even he is human.”

“I see that. But he always demands from me to tell him anything, should not hide anything from him, and then he wants to keep that from me?”

“He doesn't want to seem weak to you, he's your older brother, always the one you could lean on, even if you never took advantage of it. It's not easy to change this behaviour.”

Sherlock grimaced. “Yes, I was great to him all this time. You know, the older I got, the more I was in love with him. Everybody thinks I wasn't a sexual man but I did have desires, and I always thought of him when I had them. And then, especially after I had replaced taking drugs by solving cases, being more emotional thanks to John, my heart just jumped whenever our paths crossed, and I just couldn't show it so the more it jumped, the meaner I was to him. I was really a pain in the arse. And now he still thinks he has to protect me, has to be the reasonable one, the one always in charge because I was always so uncontrollable and irrational. But I thought we had overcome these dynamics by now. I want to be his equal and that means he must be as honest with me as he requires me to be with him.”

“That's totally understandable. Talk to him about it, Sherlock. I'm sure that he will listen to you.”

“If they ever let him come home, I'll try my best.”

“I'm sure that he will come home tonight. He must miss you very much.”

“I just love him so much, Martha. I never thought I could love him even more, but I do. That's not love anymore, it's obsession.”

“It's the same for him, believe me. He would do anything for you, he adores you. You should never doubt his love. But it's good that you care so deeply about him. Some men just don't listen to the signs of their bodies so it's very good that you look after him.”

“If he lets me.” Sherlock got up. “Thank you for listening to me, Martha. I very much appreciate your never-ending support. You are the mother that I always needed, and I don't give a damn for my real one.”

“Oh Sherlock, the first part was so sweet, thank you! But are you sure that that you want to erase your parents from your life? Maybe you will regret that one day.”

“I'm very sure that I won't, Martha. Mycroft and Lucky are my family, and you are a part of it, too.”

They had walked slowly to the door while they were speaking, and Sherlock embraced the old lady. “Let's see if there are any clients today. Would be good to be distracted. See you later then.”

His wish was fulfilled as he had the privilege to listen to five clients before lunch time. He left one of them in the middle of a sentence when Mycroft called him, telling him that there was no progress but that he would be at home latest at seven. Sherlock went back to the client just to cause a big confusion as it was already another one, which he hadn't noticed. And when he heard the story of an apple tree that was the breeding ground for vampire bats that could come through a closed window, he thought that perhaps he should have stayed in Mycroft's peaceful house instead. But then he was saved by DI Greg Lestrade.

“Hi Sherlock. Oh, you have a client, sorry.”

“Mrs Smith? Miller? Brown? was just about to leave.”

“My name is Androloczecsis! And in fact, I was not finished, I…”

“But you were. It was very nice to meet you. This way!”

Lestrade looked after the woman when she stormed to the door. “Really, Sherlock, your way of dealing with clients gets better each day.”

Sherlock waved this nonsense away. “So, do you have a nice murder for me?”

“I don't know. May I sit down?”

“Sure. I guess you don't want tea.”

“Actually… No, no worries. So, I don't know if you heard that Lord Laronne died last week?”

“I didn’t even know that he ever lived. So, was he murdered or not?”

“He shot himself in the head, or so it seems.”

“But you don't believe it. Please, can you just tell me the whole story without me having to ask you for every sentence?”

“Yes, sorry. Your patience seems to be wearing thin today.”

“My what?”

“Oh, yes, of course.” The DI grinned, and then he told Sherlock the story of the death of the rich, fifty-nine year old lord, mourned by his much younger wife. He had been found dead in his study with the gun still in his hand, everything looked like suicide. But he had not left a note and there was no apparent reason for him to kill himself. And the wife was behaving rather suspiciously.

“There are rumours in the house that Lady Laronne and Mr Cumberton, the lord's secretary, are on too good terms with each other. And the wife does hide something, I can see that. She was as cold as ice when she was told about her husband's death.”

“But you don't have any proof that she killed him.”

“No, unfortunately not. But if he was killed, it could have been only by one of the members of the household. There were a lot of people there in the night of his death. Lady Laronne's younger stepsister and stepbrother were on a visit there, and the lord's sister and her husband live in the house as they had worked together with the late lord.”

“And it's certain that nobody else could have done it?”

“No, the security of the house is exceptional. Nobody could have come inside or leave without getting noticed. But there are no cameras in the house.”

“And why do you think it wasn't a suicide? He could have had a dozen reasons nobody knew about.”

“The widow. She was it, I'm sure.”

Sherlock sighed. “Alright, and now you want me to talk to them?”

Greg shook his head. “That won't be possible. Remember these are very important people. They would never agree to speak with a, you know, detective, and the case is officially classified as a suicide.”

“Then what the hell shall I do for you?”

“The interrogations of all members of the household were recorded. I know the chances are slim, but I thought you could have a look at them, especially at the one of the wife. It's a longshot, I know, but I can't let her get away with it. If you tell me that you think she is innocent, I will leave it alone. But if you agree that there's something wrong with her, I will push for another investigation.”

“Alright, why not. Do you want me to come to the Yard?”

“Yes, that would be great. When can you come?”

“What about right now?”

“Excellent!”

“But only if Lucky can accompany me.”

“No problem. If you can live with every police officer going onto his knees and saying how cute he is.”

“As long as they don't do that with me, it's fine.”

“Alright, let's go! You'll come with me in my car?”

“Sure. I can walk back then.”

“I'll let somebody drive you wherever you want, Sherlock, no problem at all.”

*****

Half an hour later, Sherlock was looking at a big television-screen, watching Lady Laronne being interrogated. She was in her late thirties and a flawless beauty with blonde hair and almost purple eyes. Her voice was indeed rather cold, but her eyes had a nervous expression and she was biting on her bottom lip all the time. Sherlock concentrated more on how she had answered the questions than on what she had actually said. After that he asked for the interviews with the other family members and especially the secretary who was supposed to have an affair with the lady. When he had glanced through all of them, watching only a few minutes of each interrogation, he asked Lestrade if he had any film material of the late lord and his secretary. He didn't have any and they looked online and found indeed a clip of the lord showing his property to a team of television people, accompanied by Cumberton, his PA, and his wife.

“Alright then, you can open your investigation,” Sherlock said after the clip was finished.

“Great! I knew it!”

“But not against the wife. She had nothing to do with his death.”

“No?” Greg looked at him disbelievingly. “But you saw her, something's odd about her.”

“I agree, she does have a secret. But it's not the murder.  What do you want to know first, who did it or what she's hiding?”

“The murderer!”

“It was the lord's sister.”

“What? Why?”

“Because her brother was the heir of their late father and she got almost nothing. She worked with the lord but she has a gambling problem and needed more money, and her brother didn't want to give it to her. And she thought she had better chances with his wife who will get all his riches now. And what Lady Laronne is hiding is that she has an affair with her stepbrother, not with Cumberton.”

“What?!”

“That's her secret. Cumberton was her husband's lover, and she knew about that, as well as he knew about her actual partner. The marriage was arranged to keep both their secrets.”

“You mean the husband was gay and she's shagging her own brother?”

The disgust in his voice was like a cut into Sherlock's heart. “They are not really related,” he said through gritted teeth. “Her father married the boy's mother, you heard him say that.”

“Yes, but… They did grow up together and were adopted by the stepparent. It may not be a factual incest, but still…”

Sherlock cringed. If Lestrade already despised someone for a liaison with a stepsibling, what would he think about him and Mycroft? All at once he was feeling very depressed. He got up. “You will find a healing wound at the sister's forefinger as she forced the lord to fire the gun at his head.”

Greg shook his head. “Man, you think you know something and then everything is turned upside down. Thank you, Sherlock, you were amazing as usual. And what I wanted to tell you, I'm sorry about John.”

“Well, as you can see, I can still solve cases without him.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Greg said in a little shy voice.

“Dear God, does he tell everybody that I'm in love with him?” Sherlock had a hard time with speaking out the last words. “You must be disgusted by me then.”

“What? Are you mad? Why do you say that?”

“Because of the way you stated that the lord was gay.”

“But that was just because he lived in a fake marriage! I wouldn't think that was still necessary these days. And it was much more because of his wife and her secret love-life.”

“Yes, sure.”  _ And if you knew about mine, you would throw Mycroft and me into prison _ .

“Sherlock, really, I don't have any problems with homosexuality. To each his own, as long as nobody else gets hurt.”

_ Mycroft and I are not hurting anybody and you would still despise us. _ All he wanted was to get out. He left the video room and looked out for Lucky. To his surprise, Donovan had volunteered to look after him as Sherlock had figured that he wouldn't want to watch boring videos with him. He found the dog on Donovan's lap, looking at the computer she was working at. He was panting, and his ball that was lying under the table was still wet so Sally must have had played with him.

“I'm finished,” he told her. “Come here, boy.” Lucky jumped off her leg.

“He's such a cutie,” she said with an adoring smile, and Sherlock grinned. He would have never expected to hear such a sentence out of her mouth.

“Yes, he is. Thanks for taking care of him. Greg.”

“I will drive you back now.”

“Don't bother. I will walk, I'll have to buy a few things anyway and Lucky needs some training.”

“Alright, if you are sure. I really hope that I didn't hurt your feelings, Sherlock. And I wish John was there for you.”

Sherlock was just so tired of all this. He just nodded and left with his dog. It was still a little early to go to Mycie and wait for him to come back, but he was not at all in the mood to return to Baker Street. And if again Mycroft wouldn't come home, he would sleep on his side of the bed and hope to dream about him. But in case he would come, he wanted to welcome him with a good meal.

He went into a little Deli near Westminster Bridge. It looked old and shabby but he knew that the food was very good. He told Lucky to wait outside and went into the crowded store. His patience was challenged once more as it took ages until he was able to pay for his stuff. He heard Lucky bark outside and he couldn’t blame him for losing patience. He had just stored the change and was picking up his bags when a little boy pulled at his coat.

“Mister!”

“Yes? Do you want the coins?”

“No, mister, a man took your dog!”

“What?!” Sherlock dropped his bags and ran out of the store, and he realised that the place where he had left Lucky was indeed empty. He looked around in panic, and saw a man walk away with a struggling black-and-white bundle under his right arm. His first impulse was to shout after him, but he decided to just follow him silently. He remembered what Mycroft had told him about the man he had taken Lucky from, and something told Sherlock that it was him who wanted to claim him back. Only over his dead body he would get him.

Sherlock made sure not to lose sight when he followed the vicious dog-kidnapper over the bridge. He saw him turn around a few times and managed to slip out of sight behind someone or pretend to be totally uninterested every time. The man had no idea that he was Lucky's co-owner; he had only seen Mycroft and they had no real family likeness.

It was a long walk into Lambeth. The streets got dirtier, the houses uglier, and then Sherlock thought that they were far enough away.  He reduced the distance between them, and when the man walked into a very shabby, empty street, he approached him with quiet, long steps and then grabbed his shoulder. He turned around to him with wide eyes. Lucky whimpered and tried to escape from his arm, growling and struggling.

“I'm sorry, sir, you made a mistake. You took my dog. Please hand him over to me or just put him on the ground,” Sherlock said with forced politeness.

“Your dog?! It is my dog! I bought it and then this shitty faggot kicked me and took it away. And then he sold it to you? What an arsehole. Anyway it's my property and I will bring it home now.”

“So you can kick and beat him again? I ask you again - nicely - to give him to me.”

“Or what? I can see now, you are a dirty poof, too, probably you are fucking with this arrogant shithead, and the dog was your reward for blowing him!”

Sherlock tried to breathe calmly, tried to control the murderous rage that was lighting up in his soul. “Or I will turn you inside out,” he answered the man's question.

“Oh, come on, not again. Why don't you buy yourself a dog if you want one? This one's mine!”

Sherlock quickly looked around, making sure that there was nobody around. Then he kicked against the man's right knee, so hard that he could hear the knee-cap break. With a loud scream he fell on the other knee and his hands, letting Lucky drop on the ground. Sherlock had seen that he would land safely so he didn't bother catching him. Instead he kicked the man in the stomach so he fell on his back, and put a foot on his chest. The man looked up to him with wide eyes, whimpering in pain.

“You know, I would love to kill you. Just beat you to death like you deserve it. For manhandling an innocent little animal, for insulting the best man on earth, for being one of the biggest arseholes I've ever met, and believe me, I've met quite a few. But even they would despise you. I would do it in an instant if it wasn't for the trouble afterwards. So I'll let you live. But if you ever lay your disgusting hands on my dog again, or if I see you with another dog or even with a bug, or if I catch you saying any homophobic crap to anyone, I will do it, and it will be a painful death.”

He took the foot away and let him curl into a ball, holding his smashed knee. “Oh, and I'm officially buying the dog from you now.” He reached into his pocket and took a one-pound coin out of his purse. He bent down and put into the man's collar. “So, I paid for him. Alright, let's go, Lucky.”

Lucky, who had sat a few metres away, watching them, stood up. He sniffed at the tear-streaked face and then he lifted one little hind leg and peed right into it, then turned and came to Sherlock. He laughed and lifted him up. “Good boy. Now we'll go home and wait for Daddy. Oh, but before we’ll need to collect our dinner.” He walked away with long steps, holding his beloved dog in his arms, and he didn't even look back at the still whining man.

*****

Mycroft didn't have a chance to open the front door. It was opened widely before he could insert his key, he was pulled inside his house, and then Sherlock's lips were on his. He laughed and pressed him against his body tightly. “I missed you, too, honey,” he whispered and allowed himself to get lost in the kiss. He had texted Sherlock that he was on his way and he must have been looking out for him eagerly.

Eventually Sherlock pulled back a little. “I didn't think they would let you go so early.”

Mycroft bent down for a moment to touch Lucky's little head; of course the dog had come to the door as well. “There was no point in going on. We'll need to wait for the next reports that will come up in the morning. But I'm afraid that as long as they don't catch any of the people involved in the trap and the murder, we won't find out who the traitor is. We'll check everybody's financial status again and do everything possible, but I doubt that we will find him. It's demoralising.”

“Let's see if we can do something for your moral. But come in first, sit down, and then we can eat if you want, dinner's ready.”

“That sounds heavenly, Sherlock, thank you.” He followed his man and his dog into the living room. “That looks very good. I am hungry now, we didn't take many breaks.”

“I can imagine. How are you feeling?” Sherlock asked, sounding tense and careful.

“I'm fine, really, Sherlock. There is nothing to worry about.” He caught Sherlock's gaze and smiled at him. Sherlock smiled back but he was not sure if he really believed him. He started to eat with good appetite. “So how was your day? Anything interesting?”

“Well, I had quite a busy day. I solved a case for Lestrade.” He explained while Mycroft was eating, taking a few bites himself. “And I met Lucky's former master.”

Mycroft almost choked on his last bite of fish. “What? How did that happen? How did you know it was him? Did Lucky tell you?” Somehow that wouldn't have really surprised him.

“No, he took him away while he was waiting for me in front of the store.”

“What?! Unbelievable! Oh, wait… He's dead, isn't he?”

Sherlock laughed out loud. “No, he's not, even though I'd loved to kill him. He might need a new knee-cap, but besides that he's okay. And I paid for Lucky in the end so he can't say anymore that he belonged to him.”

Mycroft asked him to tell him the full story. When Sherlock was finished, he was feeling almost sick. “My God, if that boy hadn't seen what happened, we would have lost him.”

“I would have gotten him back, I swear. Nobody will take him away from us. And I will never take him to a store with me anymore.”

“Sherlock, I'm not saying that it was your fault! People leave their dogs in front of stores all the time. Who could have expected that?”

“I'm glad that you don't blame me,” Sherlock said rather shyly.

Mycroft put his plate away. “Sherlock, let's go over to the couch. If you are finished.” He looked at his half-full plate, sure that Sherlock wouldn't want to eat more.

“Yes.” He allowed Mycroft to guide him to the couch by the hand. After sitting down, they immediately snuggled against each other. Mycroft breathed in his lover's scent and they kissed again.

“Sherlock, I'm sorry for what has happened since Saturday. That I made you feel as if you had to apologise for wanting me physically, that I wasn't able to come home to you last night even though I promised you that I would. And now you just sounded as if you thought that I found you stupid or careless. I love you, Sherlock, with all of my being. Tell me, what can I do to not hurt you so easily anymore?”

“Oh Mycie, I know that you don't want to hurt me. I know that you desire me and I'm very happy that you still do. And you had no choice but to stay away last night. But you are still a little overprotective sometimes and that makes me feel as if you don't see me as your equal but rather as your little brother.”

“Sherlock, the last thing I still see you as is my brother.” And he didn't. The break-up with their parents had been the last step for that. Sherlock was his lover, his partner, not his brother, not in any emotional sense. “I do tend to be overprotective but I never do it to make you feel small.”

“I know that, too. But it hurt me that you didn't tell me that you were feeling sick on Saturday. You always say that I should come to you with everything, that you want to be my confidant in everything, and you acted in the opposite way.”

Mycroft nodded. “You are right, and I'm sorry for that. I guess that it doesn't help that it was really just the exhaustion. If I feel bad again, I will tell you right away.”

“That sounds good to me. But now you should really relax and call it an early night. Let's go to bed and make sure that you get some more sleep than last night. And I have to say that I'm very tired, too.”

Mycroft cupped his slim face with his huge hands. “I had planned to make love to you tonight to show you that I do want you very much. Are you sure that you just want to sleep? You are not saying that because you think that I couldn't or didn't want to love you?”

“I don't think that, and I always want you, Mycie. But I'm happy if I'm allowed to hold you and be held by you. You don't have to please me sexually all the time and you definitely need rest.”

Mycroft had to admit that his plans of fucking Sherlock senseless seemed to be a little too ambitious right now. But he also didn't want Sherlock to believe that it was a chore for him to have sex with him. “Alright, we will go to sleep. But perhaps we'll wake up early then and I may fuck you if we are both feeling like it?”

“That would be great.” Sherlock took him by the hand and they went upstairs, followed by Lucky. When they were ready to go to bed, Mycroft placed Lucky right next to them. With his two men right beside him, he fell asleep quickly, tightly wrapped in Sherlock's arms.


	26. Chapter 26

“Well, I think that was the last one,” John said and looked at the full trunk.

Sherlock nodded. He had helped John to pack his stuff and store it into Kelly's car. Martha had provided them with coffee and had cried a bit. Now she was coming out of the house with John's fiancée who was carrying Rosie on her arms. The two women got along very well, which was no surprise to Sherlock as it had been Martha who had chosen John's future wife. But the old lady was very sad to see the doctor go.

“Alright then, I'll go back up,” Sherlock said.

“Oh, Sherlock. Can you just wait a second?” John grabbed Kelly's arm and whispered something in her ear.

She smiled and gave him a kiss on the cheek, then she looked over to Sherlock. “Thank you for your help, Sherlock, I'll leave you two alone now for a moment.”

All Sherlock wanted was to be finally really left alone. But he made a step towards her, touched Rosie's cheek and said: “No problem, bye then.” He watched Kelly get into the car with the child.

In the meantime Martha was embracing John. “Oh John, I will miss you so much. Please stay in touch!”

“Of course I will, Martha. I promise you!” Martha sniffed and went back into the house after giving Sherlock an encouraging look.

He sighed internally. The last thing he wanted now was a tearful farewell from his former best friend.

John cleared his throat. “Sherlock, I… I don't know what to say. We've been through so much together, and it's so hard to leave.”

Sherlock gazed at him silently.

“Well, I… God, I feel so bad to leave you behind. I wish things were different, I…” He broke off again but Sherlock still didn't say a word. He honestly didn't know what to say.

“I meant it, Sherlock, you will always be my best friend. You are so important for me.”

“And still you go off to your new life with yet another woman,” Sherlock finally broke his silence, and from the way John cringed he knew that the doctor was not happy about it.

“I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I wish I could have given you what you needed.” Tears were appearing in John's blue eyes.

“But you couldn't, I understand.” Sherlock had enough of that scene. “I hope that you three will get very happy. Goodbye then.”

“Wait! I have the day off so why don't you come with us, you've never been in Kelly's house before. We could have lunch together and…”

“No, thank you. I'm sure that you want to be by yourselves now. And I will meet a client in an hour.” Which was not true of course, but who knew, they kept showing up no matter how bad some of his former clients talked about him in the internet. He didn’t give a damn for that.

“I see. But please, don't forget me. A part of me will always be here with you.”

Sherlock was close to asking which part, but he didn’t do it. “Let's not draw this out, John. Your life with me here is over and that's how it should be I guess. I will always think of you but you will forget me in no time, having a wedding in sight and a baby on the way.”

“But, no, no, that's not true, I will never...”

“Have a good start in your new home, John. Goodbye.” Sherlock let tears appear in his eyes and it wasn't difficult. It had nothing to do with John though. He watched the doctor searching for words for five more seconds, then he turned around and went inside with Lucky, ignoring that John was calling his name. Martha came out of her flat as soon as she heard him.

“Come in, darling, have a seat and a cup of tea with me.”

Sherlock nodded even though he would have preferred to be alone.

“Oh dear, you are looking so sad. Things are still not better?” She provided Sherlock with tea and biscuits and Lucky with a big dog biscuit.

“No, not really. He stays in the office for thirteen hours a day, not only because of this damn traitor; he has to do all his usual stuff, too, of course. And when he comes home, he's looking like a ghost and almost falls asleep during dinner. I get him to bed and he sleeps for an hour and then he wakes up and rolls around in the bed all night because it's eating on him, both the fact that they can't find this bloody traitor and that he thinks he's neglecting me. We tried to have sex once but he was clearly not in the mood, and it didn't really work. So he just gets more tired, depressed and exhausted every day, and I hate that I can't help him.” He didn't have to force the tears that were flooding his eyes now.

“My dear,” Martha stammered and he was pulled into a tight embrace by his landlady. “You look so worn out yourself, so tired and hopeless, is there anything I can do?”

Sherlock grabbed for a tissue and shook his head. “No, I just can't sleep either, and I miss so much how things were before. Now that I'm finally rid of John, I can't cherish it because my man is never there, and if he is, I'm worried about him.”

In fact he was always worried about Mycroft now. The last four days Mycroft and his colleagues had been in one conference after the other, talking with their staff, making plans to finally find the one who was betraying the country and had caused the death of four agents. That they still didn't have a clue about his identity was weighing on Mycroft immensely, and his sleeplessness caused Sherlock to not sleep either as it was not possible to find rest next to a man who was rolling around in the bed almost the entire night. Of course Sherlock could have slept in the guest room but there was no chance that he would leave Mycroft alone.  Even though he did manage to get some sleep during the day, he was running as much on autopilot as Mycroft was, and he was feeling as depressed as he had done in those bad times when Mycroft had been nothing more than a fantasy figure to him. Of course he did his best to not show his feelings to Mycroft because the last thing he wanted was to make him suffer even more, but his lover just knew him too well to fall for that and it only caused him more pain. In short, it was a horrible situation.

“If they don't find this guy soon, I don't know what will happen, Martha. He doesn't get any rest and is completely stressed out.”

“And so are you. You need to take care of yourself, Sherlock, I guess you can't help him with these problems, but you must be the strong one now so he can relax at least when he's at home. Try to distract him a bit and…” She broke off, and Lucky started to bark. The front door had been opened.

Sherlock stood up, knowing the steps on the floor very well. “He's here, Martha!” He kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you, I will talk to you later.”

She smiled. “Of course. Go to him now.”

Lucky was in the corridor as soon as Sherlock started to open the door of Mrs Hudson's flat. He was lifted up immediately. “Hey buddy, where's Mummy? Or, there you are.”

Mycroft smiled at him and Sherlock approached him with long steps and pulled him close. Their lips met for a tender kiss, then Sherlock put his right hand flat on his pale cheek. “Tell me that there's good news!”

He was graced with a sad smile. “No, not really. But I just had to get away from the office for a while. I told the PM that I would just drop dead if I didn't get any rest and I was surprised that he didn't say that I should do that, instead he told me to leave for two hours. I wish I could go home now with you, but I'll have to be back for another long meeting.”

“Of course. But I'm so happy that you are here now. John has just left.”

“Yes, it's the big day. I wish we could celebrate that. But we will have to postpone that for a while.”

Sherlock wondered how long this while would be. But there was no point in getting into this subject because nobody knew it. “Let's go upstairs then so you can lie down in my bed and sleep for an hour. You need that so much.”

“Well, I didn't come here for sleeping,” Mycroft protested but Sherlock just took his hand and guided him to the stairs.

“But sleep is what you need to have now, Mycie. And don't worry, I will tell not let anyone come in the flat so you won't be disturbed.”

“And what about you?”

“I can sleep later in your house.” He was already feeling much better because his man was there with him.

He urged Mycroft to undress and slip under the blanket. Mycroft looked at him with tired, sad eyes. “I'm so sorry for all that, Sherlock. I've never meant to make you feel bad.”

“Hush, you are not doing that. Now sleep, please. I will wake you in time.” He could see that Mycroft was reluctant to give into his exhaustion, but he did fall asleep within less than a minute, Lucky in his arms.

Sherlock went into the living room, closing the door quietly behind him. After a moment of hesitation, he took his phone and called Anthea.

_ “Hello Mr Holmes,” _ she greeted him. She didn't seem to be too surprised to hear from him.

“Hi Anthea. Mycroft has just arrived here.”

_ “That's good. He should sleep for a while and it's just not possible here.” _

“He's already sleeping. Listen, I know what's going on and… Is there anything I can do?”

Now she did sound surprised.  _ “Didn't you ask your brother?” _

“Well, yes. He said that there is no trace to follow and I couldn't do anything. But I just can't watch him falling apart any longer.” He knew that he sounded too desperate. But he was.

_ “I'm afraid he's right, Sherlock. We are looking at everybody who could possibly be the responsible person, we are turning every stone to find him. So far we don't have anything. Nobody seems to have suspicious connections or got rich all at once. But I don't have to tell you that there are ways to get money and not let it appear in any account we have access to. If we just had a suspect, it might be easier. But there are just too many possibilities.” _

“Yes, I was expecting that answer. But Mycroft can't work in that pace for much longer. Is it really necessary for him to go back to the office this afternoon?”

_ “I'm afraid it is, Sherlock. All the important MI6 officials will attend this meeting at two-thirty. I know that it looks as if nothing that we do leads to anything, but eventually it will pay out. He wouldn't want to skip it so please don't even think of not waking him up in time.” _

“Alright, I will make sure that he's there. I'm sorry to have bothered you, Anthea.”

_ “You haven’t in the least, Sherlock. I very much appreciate your concern for your brother. I do my best to keep him going and make sure that he eats a little bit at least and rests for some minutes whenever possible. I suppose you do the same for him when he's at home.” _

“I try. But he can't sleep, he's just rolling…” Sherlock broke off, terrified. What the hell was he just doing?!

But Anthea sounded completely calm when she spoke.  _ “He does look as if he doesn't nearly get enough sleep. But don't worry too much, Sherlock. We will find this subject and then he will be able to take some days off and rest. And if I was to make a bet, I would say that he will be able to sleep tonight, his body will just take what it needs eventually. Just go on supporting him like you already do. He shouldn't worry about anything else.” _

“I will not… I… will make sure that he doesn't. Thank you for… everything,” Sherlock choked out. “I'll let you get back to work now. You don't have to tell Mycroft that I called you.”

_ “Goodbye, Sherlock, I will keep it to myself even though I'm sure that he wouldn't mind. And you can call me anytime. Please try not to get too stressed yourself. It would make the situation just more difficult for you and for him. Take care, bye.” _

Sherlock stared at his phone when he had ended the call. What an idiot he was, saying something like that. But Anthea had reacted extremely coolly. As if… No, she didn't know anything about them, how could she? Anyway, his exhaustion was taking its toll, he was stuttering like a fool and he needed to get his senses together. Anthea was so right, he had to take care of himself so he could take care of Mycroft's needs. As soon as Mycroft would have left to the office, he would go to his house and sleep for some hours. He would make sure that dinner would be ready and just had to be reheated so he would be able to relax.

When it was time for Mycroft to go back, he went into the bedroom and allowed himself to watch him for a minute. His face was pale and the dark shadows under his eyes were alarming. But he had promised to tell Sherlock if he was feeling bad instead of just tired the next time so Sherlock hoped that it was nothing more. It was already enough… He bent over him and tenderly kissed his lips to wake him up even though he would have loved to snuggle against him instead and fall asleep next to him. It broke his heart to watch him opening his red eyes and gazing at him with a confused expression. But he seemed to wake up completely very quickly.

“Thank you for letting me sleep here and for waking me,” he quietly said and Sherlock kissed him again.

“You know I would have rather let you sleep and slip under the blanket with you. But I guess you need to go.”

Mycroft slung a long arm around his neck and pulled him close. “I'm so sorry, Sherlock, I wish I could stay with you. I just hope that this nightmare will be over very soon. And then I will take a week off and go somewhere with you and Lucky.”

“That sounds very good to me,” Sherlock said honestly and smiled at him. “Now get dressed, here, your trousers.” He helped Mycroft to slip into his clothes and brought him to the front door.

After a long kiss Mycroft said: “I didn't even ask you how you are feeling. About John moving out. I don't have to ask you how you are feeling about me…”

He sounded very down and Sherlock pressed him against his body. “Don't worry about me, I'm fine.”

“No, you are definitely not!”

“But I will be. Listen, this is not changing anything between us. I love you and to be honest, I love you more with every day. We will get through these times and then we'll be very happy again. Just like the fortune teller said.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed his nose. “What a shame that we don't know where she is. Perhaps she could tell us who the rat is.”

“I don't think that's how it works,” Sherlock said. “Go now, honey, your car is waiting.”

“Will you be at home tonight? Or stay here?”

_ Where you could sleep and where you are not a bit lonelier than in my house _ was hanging in the air. “Of course I will be at home.”  _ Home _ \- that was Mycroft's house, not this flat, and John's moving out would not change that. “In fact I will go there very soon. I don't have any patience for a client today.”

“I can imagine. You look every bit as tired as I do. I'm sorry, honey…”

Sherlock kissed him once more. “Don't apologise all the time. And go now so you don't get in trouble. I will be there when you come home.”  _ If you come home _ …

“I will come home, and not too late.” Mycroft had read his mind once more. “Bye now, honey, I love you so much. Thank you for everything. I'll make up for it.”

“Yes you will. I'm already making a list with all the sexual favours that I will call in as soon as this is over.”

Mycroft smiled and kissed him again. “The longer the list, the better. I can't wait to work through it. Take care now.” And very reluctantly he left the house and Sherlock watched him entering the black car. Then he went back inside to prepare going home.

*****

He put the lasagne he had fetched at Angelo's in Mycroft's fridge. Then he turned around to Lucky. “Want to go in the park?” Lucky barked with sparkling eyes and Sherlock smiled. “I thought so. But just a little bit, Mummy has to sleep.”

He would have liked to go to bed right now but Lucky needed to be outside for a while, and he knew that he could do with some fresh air as well. Not in the mood for jogging, they slowly went to their usual bench. It had rained in the morning so it was a little wet but Sherlock didn't bother. He sat down and threw the ball for his dog, giving him a quick touch and some nice words whenever he brought it back to him. He didn't pay any attention to the people walking by. After ten minutes his official phone chirped and he wondered why he had not left it at Baker Street. After a quick look at the display he put it away. Of course it was John again. He had tried to reach him several times but Sherlock had not seen any sense in taking his calls or answering to his texts. The doctor was past now and he would forget Sherlock soon enough. He remembered how John had welcomed him when he had come  back from Serbia. He should have known by then already that they were not a good match anymore. A new love always destroyed even the deepest friendship. Who should know that better than Sherlock? Since he had found the love of his life, nothing mattered to him anymore. Except for Lucky of course but he was indeed like Mycroft's and his child.

When Lucky was panting and seemed to be tired of running after his ball, Sherlock got up. “Let's go home now so I'll get some sleep before Daddy comes home.” They slowly walked to the exit and then Sherlock saw Billy and Bobby run into the park, followed by their master.

“Hi, Sherlock! God, don't take this the wrong way, but you're really not looking good,” Oscar greeted him.

Sherlock grimaced. “I know. Life has become a little more difficult than the last time we met.” He had not seen the IT specialist since he had interrupted his dirty talk with Mycroft. It already seemed like ages ago.

“Do you care to share it with me? I'm a good listener,” Oscar offered.

Sherlock nodded. He didn't see any reason not to talk to him about it. In fact, they already knew each other's darkest secrets even though none of them had planned that. They sat down on a free bench. The other people were far enough away from them so Sherlock felt safe to talk. He told Oscar about the traitor and how it affected Mycroft's and his life.

“That's really crap,” Oscar said with a compassionate expression. “And there is really no money they could trace back?”

“No, nothing. But you know of course that there are plenty of countries who allow anonymous number accounts and don't give any access to their client's data. If the money, and there has to be money, was transferred to such an account, not even the Secret Service can trace it. They don't even know where to look. They don't have any suspects. Whoever it is, he or she is very smart.”

“The funny thing is that, as I was feeling so bored, I took an offer from the Industrial and Commercial Bank of China to develop a super-secret program to trace money back to every source. It's not quite finished as it is really complicated. But if they find the one who paid for the secret information, I will be able to identify the recipient of the payment as soon as the program is completely set up.”

“That would be awesome!” Sherlock said. “But I'm afraid they don't have a clue yet. They should be looking at the other side of the payment though.”

“I suppose that's even more difficult. But if they have any suspect there, I'd love to give it a try, and of course also when they find the traitor and need proof.” Oscar absently rubbed Bobby's ear.

“And the Chinese wouldn't mind?”

“They surely would, but you know who you are talking to!” Oscar grinned and Sherlock returned it. He realised that he really liked this guy.

“I shall better go now, I want to catch some sleep before Mycroft comes home. If they let him come home at all. He's really whacked and I'm so worried about him.”

Oscar's face grew serious. “I can imagine that very well. I'll cross my fingers that they will find out something, and then don't hesitate to call me; I will do what I can to help. It would be nice for a change to do something for my country, let alone for you two.”

Sherlock offered him his hand. “That's greatly appreciated, Oscar. Thank you. And you are a great listener.”

He went home with Lucky and fed the dog. He just drank some water and crawled into Mycroft's bed, feeling a little more hopeful but very exhausted. Cuddled up with his dog, he fell into a deep sleep.

*****

When he woke up, it was completely dark in the room and through blinking eyes, he saw Mycroft's tall silhouette before the bed. “Oh shit, Mycie, I'm sorry, I wanted to make dinner for us and…”

“Don't worry, honey,” Mycroft said and took place on the edge of the bed. “It's all ready, I put it in the microwave.” He bent down and his lips searched Sherlock's for a deep kiss.

Sherlock embraced him and returned the kiss with verve. “So sorry, I didn't want to sleep so long.”

“Dear, we both know how much you need it. I know I didn't let you sleep. It's so selfish of me to not stay in the guest room and give you the rest you need but I need you close to me.”

“It's your house, Mycie, and I would never want that. I want you near me, too, sod sleep.” Mycroft let him go and he got on his feet. “Any news?” he asked even though he was pretty sure that there wasn't any.

“No, unfortunately not. Plus we have a crisis with the American ambassador, as if all this other crap wasn't bad enough.”

“I'm surprised that they let you go at all. How late is it?”

“It's almost nine. And I've decided that no matter what happens, I will always come home to you. I bought some pills so I can sleep. You can have some as well if you want.”

“That doesn't sound healthy to me,” Sherlock said, very well knowing how strange it must sound to Mycroft to hear that out of Sherlock's mouth of all people.

Mycroft smiled. “They are harmless I was told. Just something to get down and shut up the voices in my head.”

They walked downstairs, hand in hand and followed by Lucky. “You are hearing voices? I guess then you need more than sleeping pills,” Sherlock teased him.

Mycroft stopped in the middle of the stairs and pulled him in a very tight embrace. “I love you, Sherlock, and I missed you so much during the last days.”

“But you did see me.”

“You know what I mean.”

“Yes. And I miss you, too.”

“Tonight I will make love to you, no matter what. I need you and I know it will work tonight.” It was the first time that he admitted that he had feared to again not be able to function due to his exhaustion. Sherlock knew how much it had upset Mycroft when it had happened that morning, and none of them had wanted to talk about it.

They continued their way to the kitchen. Sherlock made light and for the first time looked in Mycroft's face. He looked horribly bad. The shadows under his eyes had darkened even more and he was extremely pale. “You need rest above all, Mycie.”

“Please, Sherlock, I know I wouldn't win any beauty contest now - not that I ever would - but please don't reject me.”

Sherlock shut him up with a kiss. “I'm not rejecting you in the least, Mycie, but I'm so worried about you. But why don't you let me just take care of you instead and if you don't feel like it, we can always stop.”

“I can't wait, and believe me, I thought about it all day.”

Sherlock felt pretty aroused all at once. But they both needed some food before. The pasta was very good, and they talked about Mycroft's day and Oscar's suggestion while they were eating. Mycroft headed for the shower after dinner, and Sherlock waited for him in the bedroom, completely naked and comfortably positioned on the bed. His excitement was exploding when Mycroft came into the bedroom, with damp hair and a clean-shaven face, smelling delicious and only clothed with his bathrobe. He lay down next to him and Sherlock immediately let his hand slide into the robe and over his back, pulling him as close as possible. They started kissing and Mycroft let his already hard cock grind against Sherlock's. Both of them moaned and then Mycroft turned to lie on his back, the robe falling open, and Sherlock was all over him in a second. He started with licking and kissing his throat, then let his lips wander over his warm chest, sucking softly at his nipples. Mycroft's low moans were music to his ears and he was getting harder with every second. He didn't draw it out for too long though, knowing that Mycroft had to sleep, and so he started sucking his tasty, wet dick with full power right away.

“Oh, Sherlock,” Mycroft groaned not even a minute later, and then Sherlock's mouth was flooded with his thick, salty cum. Mycroft just sacked away in the second his orgasm had ended and he could hardly keep his eyes open. “So sorry, baby, I…” His voice had gotten quieter with every word and then he was just off.

Sherlock carefully brought him in a comfortable position and wrapped him into the blanket. He bent over and brushed a kiss on his forehead, then he lay down on his side of the bed. His own erection was still throbbing hard. He closed his hand around it, and after five or six hard pumps, he came over his stomach silently. He reached for the tissues on the nightstand and cleaned the mess up. He snuggled against Mycroft's shoulder and closed his eyes, knowing that they would both sleep this night. But his heart was heavy and he felt strangely lonesome. Better times needed to come soon. 


	27. Chapter 27

“Well, ladies and gentlemen, let's hope for the best. We will meet in this room tomorrow at the same time. Keep your fingers crossed for a better outcome.” The PM stood up and left the conference room.

Mycroft sighed. It was Friday afternoon, and he had known before this meeting that he would have to show up at the weekend as well. The mission in Sudan would go live in twenty-four hours, and they would have to see what was going to happen. He didn't even want to imagine what Sherlock would think about him going to the office on a Saturday after this horrible week. But at least Mycroft had every intention to leave after his next meeting with the minister of foreign affairs which would take place in half an hour, and they would have the rest of the day together.

Mycroft had left very early to the office after sleeping like a stone for eight hours without having taken a single of the pills he had bought. Sherlock's skilful mouth had been enough help. And it was eating at Mycroft immensely that he had not been able to return the favour. When he had left this morning, Sherlock had still been deeply asleep and he had written him a note instead of waking him up. Thanks to having to run from one meeting into the other that day, they had not been in touch at all so far, and he was dying to be with him. This night he would start to work through that imaginary list of sexual favours and he couldn't wait. He just hoped Sherlock would be in the mood after he had told him that he would have to leave him alone on Saturday afternoon…

“Mr Holmes, wait a second please.”

Mycroft sighed and turned around to Albert Scott. The PA of the Prime Minister showed him his usual stupid smile. “Yes, Mr Scott?”

“The Prime Minister received a call from the American ambassador. He wants to see you at seven-thirty for a meeting and a dinner at the embassy.”

“Absolutely not. I will send Peter Warner.”

“No, sir, he asked especially for you. You know how difficult the situation is with him. There's no way that you let anyone else go in your place.”

Mycroft closed his eyes. Could it get any worse? Probably yes, considering the developments during the last couple of days. “Alright,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Excellent. Have a good day.”

Mycroft watched him go away buoyantly and would have loved to throw something at him. But instead he sighed deeply and headed for his office. He would have to call Sherlock and even though he longed for hearing his voice, he was quite sure that it would not be a pleasant conversation…

When he arrived at his office, he froze. Lady Smallwood, who had left the conference room before him, was standing in front of the closed door. With the rest of his self-control he gave her a thin smile. “Lady Smallwood, what can I do for you?”

“Elizabeth, please, Mycroft. Just a word,” she quietly said.

He was pretty surprised about her turning back to the use of first names. After their disastrous meeting in Edinburgh, their relationship had been rather frosty. They had worked together as they had always done but without any sign of friendliness from either of them. He wasn't sure though if her return to more familiar patterns meant good news but he would certainly find out very soon. “Come in then. But I don't have much time, I need to make a phone call before my meeting with the Foreign Minister.”

“I won't keep you long,” she promised.

They both sat down, separated by Mycroft's desk. He looked at her, eager to get rid of her as soon as possible. He was nervous to say the least, and that had nothing to do with her.

“I saw Anthea in my lunch break,” she said to his surprise.

His eyes narrowed in confusion. “Alright,” he said. And she was telling him that why? Anthea had asked to be allowed to leave the office for two hours for lunch and an appointment with a doctor.

“She didn't see me. She… was not alone.”

Mycroft's confusion only increased. What the hell was this woman stealing his time for? To tell him that his assistant had an affair?

“She was with another woman, and it became clear that she was not just a friend.”

“Elizabeth,” he said in a warning tone. “Anthea's love life or sexual orientation is none of our business.” In fact he had not had a clue that Anthea was a lesbian. He had never thought about her private life at all.

“No!” she blurted. “I'm just telling you that to say sorry. You certainly remember that I thought you had… an affair with her.”

“I do recall that you put it in less decent words,” he said coldly.

“I'm sorry, Mycroft. I should have known that this was not true. I know I was not the only one to believe that.”

The bush telegraph seemed to not work very well then as he had told the PM in very clear words that he was gay. Apparently Lady Smallwood still wasn't aware of that. “Well, apology accepted. If you excuse me now, I really need to make this call.”

“I wish you would give us a chance, Mycroft,” she surprised him again.

He closed his eyes for a moment. He had really thought they had left this behind them. “I also recall that I told you that I keep my professional relationships strictly professional.” But since that had not worked last time as it seemed, he finally needed to get really distinct about that. “In fact I am already attached. To a man.”

She stared at him disbelievingly. “You want to tell me that your assistant is a lesbian and you are gay?”

“Well, I don't know for sure about Anthea as you're the one who witnessed her with that woman. But I can tell you that I am one-hundred percent gay. It is a coincidence I can assure you.”

“Gay?” She still seemed shaken.

“I don't think that I look that straight,” Mycroft said with a hint of amusement. In fact Lucky's terrible owner had seen it in an instant and he was a lot less smart than the lady. “I don't know why this surprises you that much. In any way there is not a chance that we'll ever get together, for several reasons, so don't you think it would be convenient if you finally forgot about it and behaved more rational so we can work together without this stressful undertone?”

“You bastard!” she spat out.

He was taken aback. What did he say?

“You let me run after you all this time and never bothered to tell me that you are a faggot?”

Mycroft was on his feet in an instance. “Lady Smallwood, that's enough. I have always kept my private life private as it should be. I have never, for a second, encouraged your hopes, and I refuse to tolerate being insulted by you in my own office! If you finally excuse me now, I'm busy and would appreciate if you left me alone.”

“I bet you are calling your hot, little lover now!” She stormed to the door. “You've humiliated me and I won't forget that!” With this she left his office and the door flew shut behind her.

Mycroft sighed deeply. Then he sat back in his chair. Indeed he had to speak with his hot, little lover but it would probably not get as nice as that sounded. He took a deep breath and called Sherlock.

The detective answered in an instant.  _ “Hi darling. How's it going?” _

“Hi love, there's not much new on that front I'm afraid.”

There was a short pause. _ “And on which front is anything new?” _ He sounded as if he already knew that Mycroft would not tell him anything good.

“I have to go to a dinner at the American embassy tonight, Sherlock. I told you we have a crisis with this unbearable man and he demanded for my attendance.”

There was silence. _ “I see,” _ came the toneless reply after twenty long seconds.  _ “I guess you will be very late?” _

Mycroft cleared his throat. “I fear that I will. He is known for his long parties and would take it as a personal affront if I left early. And tomorrow I'll have to be in the office for a meeting. We'll need to check on the Sudan-mission. It's the first one since the disaster and we can't postpone it any longer.”

The silence was rather hostile this time and he continued talking. “But I will be at home sometime tonight and we will have the morning together, and once the meeting is finished, I'll be home for the weekend.” He paused, knowing he had to add something. “If nothing else happens.”

_ “That sounds  _ great _ , Mycroft.” _

He cringed at the icy tone. “Sherlock…”

_ “I suppose I will stay in Baker Street tonight then. So you will get a little more sleep before your meeting. I will drop by for lunch maybe.” _

“Sherlock, please…”

_ “Of course, if you require assistance in getting to sleep, I shall come over and stay up until you come home tonight.” _

Mycroft gasped and he felt his eyes getting wet. He was hurt by these words but he knew that he deserved them. “I'm so sorry, Sherlock, about everything, about last night when I just sacked away after what you did for me, that I neglect you like that…”

_ “No, I'm sorry, Mycie, that was very much below the belt. I loved to do that for you and you needed to sleep so desperately. And I'm not so pissed off because I need to have you around all the time, though in fact, I do. I'm not a child, I know that your responsibilities are more important than holding your needy lover's hand. But I'm so worried about you. They should at least let you have a free weekend after all that stress.” _

Mycroft's head was spinning. There was so much to say and yet he knew that he wouldn't be able to put it in the right words. “Sherlock, I'm so terribly sorry for how I'm making you feel. But please be assured that you are the most important part of my life, you are so much more than a duty, you're my life. I'll need to take care of this matter but I swear that this will be over soon and then I will spend as much time with you as you can bear. I can understand if you don't want to come over tonight but I wish you would do it.”

_ “It's just so hard for me to see you like that, Mycie. So worn out and down. I fear for you and for our love if you go on like that.” _

“Sherlock, you're not a child and I'm not a weak, old man, stop treating me like one!” He gasped in terror, not knowing where these aggressive words had come from. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to snap at you. I love you so much.”

_ “It's alright. I better let you get back to work. Take care.” _

With this Sherlock ended the call and Mycroft leaned back in his chair, feeling as horrible as he could get. He was still staring at his silent phone when Anthea entered the office.

“Sir, you need to go off to your meeting now. Is everything alright?”

_ No, not really _ . “Don't worry, I'm fine. Just tired.” And he was, despite the sleep he had gotten. It had not nearly been enough to make up for the sleepless nights before. But he had no choice than to get going now. He slowly walked to the door, aware of Anthea's concerned looks. “I will be back in around an hour and perhaps try to get a short nap and you can go home then.” There was no need for both of them to mess up their private life. He knew that he should have suggested Sherlock to spend a short time with him at 221B after the meeting, but he was rather sure that Sherlock wouldn’t want to see him now. And if he was really honest, he didn't know if he'd be able to cope with Sherlock before attending an event that would require all of his patience and a perfect mask of politeness, and he felt even guiltier because of this thought. The list of his failures was getting longer with every day and he just hoped that Sherlock would allow him to make up for them. But until he was able to do that at all, it would probably get even longer and he didn't know what to do about that.

*****

Sherlock winced when Lucky jumped onto his lap, starting to lick off the tears that were running down his cheeks. He sobbed and took the warm, little body in his arms. Would it end now like that? Snapping at each other, hurting the other one even more in a situation that required nothing but comfort? A comfort they couldn't give to each other because Mycroft was neither available nor in the state to give or receive it? And why the hell did he have to say something that cruel, making Mycroft feel even guiltier about the last night than he had already had? Sherlock grabbed the piece of paper that he had found on the nightstand when he had finally woken up after almost eleven hours of sleep. He had taken it with him to Baker Street and had already read it about twenty times.

_ My dear Sherlock, I needed to go the office early to get as much as possible done before my meetings. I hope that I can be at home around six. So sorry that I couldn't please you last night. What you did for me felt wonderful. I love you so much. Can't wait to be with you tonight so I can start working on that list. MH _

And now he wouldn't show up early, instead he would have to make silly conversation with this arse of an ambassador and all the other important people and then come home in the middle of the night, only to go to work the next day as well.

Sherlock was feeling worse than he had done for years. And for the first time since they had gotten together, his soul was crying for a comfort from another source. He took his official phone. Bill Wiggins was still in his contact list... “I can't do that, Lucky. It would kill Daddy.” And still he needed it so much: getting lost in chemical pleasures.

A sharp knock at the door startled him. He sighed deeply. That was either John or another stupid client, definitely a male one by the vehemence of the knocking. “Yes?”

“Mr Holmes?” he heard a deep voice with the hint of an accent saying.

“I’m coming,” he said reluctantly and got up, putting Lucky on the ground and cleaning his face with a tissue. He opened the door and stared at the man in the expensive, grey suit who was waiting outside. He was about forty years old, around Mycroft's size, muscular and lean, with back-combed, jet black hair, almost black eyes with very long lashes, and a precisely-cut goatee. The light-brown skin of his face was flawless, his lips were full and revealed perfectly white teeth when he slightly smiled. If Sherlock was being objective, this man was by far the most handsome human being he had ever come across.

“Good afternoon, Mr Holmes. I need your help.” Definitely a Portuguese accent, probably he was Brazilian.

“Come in, please.” He stepped aside, and to his surprise, Lucky, who had been waiting behind him, greeted the man as if he had known him his entire life. He tried to crawl up his leg and Sherlock unwillingly said: “Stop that, Lucky! I'm sorry, he usually never does that.”

But the man just smiled, put the big, black briefcase he was carrying on the ground and took the little dog on his arm. “I don't mind at all.” He offered Sherlock his free right hand. “My name is Antonio Armando de Luiz Calmantaro.”

Sherlock lifted his eyebrows. “I guess you should write that down for me.” He gestured towards the client's chair.

The man laughed and it sounded like dark music. “My friends call me Tony, Mr Holmes.”

“Sherlock, please. And even though we are not friends, I'd prefer Tony as well.” He let himself drop onto his chair.

Tony took a seat as well while putting Lucky onto his lap. “Of course. Sherlock, I require your assistance in a very important and completely confidential case. Is Dr Watson here as well by any chance?”

“I'm afraid you’ll have to put up with me alone. John Watson does no longer work with me.”

“Oh, I didn’t know that. This job might require more than one person though and preferably one with special skills.”

Sherlock looked at him and he felt an interest arise in his mind that he had not expected to ever show up again, let alone on a day like that. He finally tried to deduce the man sitting in front of him beyond his physical attributes. But he realised that it was impossible, or perhaps this man was really consisting of more completely opposite character traits than any other person he knew. His piercing black eyes spoke of coldness and passion, his sensuous mouth of cruelty and empathy, his entire appearance oozed a mixture of mercilessness and compassion. He seemed to be straight but far from being conservative. So Sherlock decided that - adding to being hallucinatory attractive - he definitely seemed to be one of the most interesting men he had ever met.

“We’ll see that,” Sherlock said. “Tell me what your problem is.”

Tony put a hand in the inner pocket of his jacket and pulled out a smartphone. He looked something up and handed the phone over to Sherlock. “See yourself, please.”

Sherlock took it and watched closely when a video started to play. A young girl, perhaps around fifteen years old, was tied to a chair. She had long black hair, huge brown eyes and seemed to be completely terrified. Her mouth was gagged and she was fighting against the ties. Then the picture moved over to a man who was dressed in black all over and was holding a gun. He was speaking indeed Portuguese, a language that Sherlock was familiar with.  _ “If you want to see her again, you know what we want. No police of course. You have time until eleven tonight to give it to us, then she will die. I’ll call you later with instructions.”  _ Then the screen went dark.

Sherlock handed the phone back to Tony. “Your daughter?” he asked.

“Yes. Nina. She goes to school in London. I wanted to have her far away from my business to keep her safe. It didn't work,” Tony said in a bitter tone. “I wanted to visit her to spend some time with her, but when I came to her school, she was gone.”

“Do you know who took her?”

“Yes. This guy and his brother - Bruno and Pedro Lopes are their names - used to work with me before I found out that they were betraying me. I don't know where she is though. They don't have any property in London. You need to find her and free her, Sherlock. I will pay you ten million British pounds if you bring her back to me alive and I wouldn't mind at all if you also killed the guys who kidnapped her.”  _ It would spare me the effort _ was hanging in the air.

Sherlock was speechless for a moment. “Ten million pounds?” he repeated.

Tony smiled. “I realise that you are surprised about that but not about the second part.”

“Well, I am not a paid killer, Tony. And I need to know more about you and why they are threatening you and your family.”  _ Ten million pounds _ ...

“My family - that's only Nina and I. And if you please be so kind to hand me my briefcase, I will show you what this is all about.” He looked down at Lucky, who was sleeping on his lap. “I would stand up myself but...”

“Sure.” Sherlock was still amazed by the trust that Lucky was showing towards this man. He got up and collected the black briefcase. He put it on the table next to Tony so he could open it up. He did and took a folder out that he handed over to Sherlock.

The detective turned the front page. He grimaced when he saw pictures of dead apes and big cats, skinned and mutilated. It looked barbaric and pathetic.

“That's my business,” Tony said.

“Well, it's horrible and disgusting,” Sherlock said. “I don't think I want to help you, no matter how much you want to pay me.”

Tony sent a pointed look at Lucky. “Sherlock, please. You are such a smart man.”

“Oh. You didn't mean that you are participating in that.” He felt pretty silly.

“I am fighting it, with all of my being. And that's only a part of my work. I did earn a lot of money years ago in a different way, but for fifteen years, I've dedicated my life to saving animals. All kinds of animals. I do not work with the government and my methods are a little different. But yours are, too, as far as I've heard, so you probably wouldn't mind.”

Sherlock could somehow imagine pretty well how Tony was working. “We can go into these details later. But for now, what do they want from you?”

“I have plenty of skins and all imaginable other parts of poached animals, hidden away in a secret warehouse. The brothers had tried to get hold of it to sell it, and managed to escape before I could catch them. They want this stuff in exchange for my daughter's life. I can’t let this happen. Please help me to find them, dead or alive.”

“Why me? I suppose you have a big organisation?”

“My men are all in Brazil and even though I am well-connected, I don't have the possibilities for that. I know that you are very good at clearing difficult situations and that your brother is a high government official so I suppose you have access to the sources of the Secret Service. The phone number was withheld but I guess their programs can find it out and trace it.”

“How do you know what my brother does?” Sherlock was very surprised.

“I do have some sources. I'm coming to London quite often and I know a lot of people here, and you solved a case for Maximilian Brown-Jordan last year. You remember him?”

“Of course.”

“No, you don't.” A smile appeared on Tony’s face for a moment.

Sherlock grinned. “No, I have no idea.” He grew serious again. “But there is no way that I can use my brother to trace that video. He is not getting involved in that.”

“I didn't mean to really involve him. I don't want an army to come for Nina's rescue; you heard him: no police. They will kill her if they notice that anyone is coming for her. But with your creative ways of working, I was sure that you'd find a way to use your brother's capacities without letting him know.”

Sherlock shook his head. Even if he was able to do that, he wouldn't. He would never use Mycroft, in absolutely no fucking way. “I have no possibilities for doing that.”

Tony's face darkened. “I understand.” He sounded hopeless and defeated.

“I didn't say I'm not going to help you. I do know somebody else who could be of help. I will talk to him in a minute.”

“Alright, but is it a trustworthy person?”

“Absolutely. Very capable and totally trustworthy.” He realised that this was very true. He did trust Oscar completely. And he remembered what Oscar had done to the man who had hurt Billy. “He might not be only able to find out where your daughter is, he might also come with me to get her out.”

“That sounds very good to me. And you might find this helpful then.” Tony reached into the briefcase again and Sherlock opened his eyes widely when he saw two identical pistols with silencers.

Tony gave him an intense look. “I respect it if you don't want to kill them, but they are dangerous. You'll need to go in there armed. Both weapons are unregistered, clean and tested. I also have two very thin but strong bullet-proof vests. You can wear them under your clothes and they're not visible.”

“Looks like you came here well-prepared. Let me talk to this man now.” Sherlock got up and grabbed his official phone. “If you excuse me for a moment?”

“Sure. Let him know that he will get paid the same amount of money if your mission is successful.”

“I think he will rather be on board because he likes the challenge,” Sherlock said and went into the floor and then into his bedroom and closed the door behind him. He didn't have a problem with Tony being in the living room all alone with his precious dog. Lucky trusted him so he was okay.

_ “Sherlock, what a nice surprise!” _ he was welcomed by an apparently happy Oscar, who was speaking with his mouth full.  _ “Sorry, was just eating an apple. What are you up to?” _

“Oscar, I need your help.”

_ “Sure. I told you I would do anything I can to help you!” _

“It's not a personal favour. It's for a case. A teenage girl was kidnapped and her father asked me to find out where she is being kept and to free her.”

_ “Man, that sounds awesome!” _

Sherlock smiled about his enthusiasm. “Awesome?”

_ “No, I mean of course it's horrible that this happened to her. But I'd love to help out!” _

“The kidnappers sent a video-message to her father, the number was withheld. Can you trace it back?”

_ “Sherlock!” _ He sounded embarrassed.  _ “Don’t you know who you are talking to?!” _

He chuckled. “Sorry, no offense meant. Can I come over to your place then with the video?” Probably he could have just had Tony mail the file, but he wanted to talk to Oscar personally.

_ “Head over whenever you want. I will get the program ready.” _

“That's great, Oscar. But… would you mind going there with me? I'll need a backup. We don't know if there are only the two kidnappers, but depending on where they are, we might be able to figure that out. And I will make a plan for a ruse as soon as we know more about the circumstances. But in all probability there will be at least two men I'll have to deal with, and I don't want to go in there by myself.”

_ “Sherlock! Of course I will come with you! Mycroft would kill me if I let anything happen to you. Bring Lucky, he can stay in my house with my boys then. It's so exciting! Bye then!” _

Sherlock smiled but then he was hit by a sudden pain. Mycie. He couldn't go in there, risking his life once more and not speak with him before. But then he realised that he would probably be in a meeting now, so he decided to text him from his other phone.

_ Mycie, I'm sorry for before. I love you so much. I'm working on a case today but hopefully I will be waiting in your bed when you come tonight. Please take care of yourself, that's all I ask you for. Whatever happens - you are making me so happy and I will love you for eternity. SH _

After sending the text, he stored both phones in his pocket. He hoped that Mycie would love his text as much as he had loved his message this morning.  _ The message! _ He felt sudden panic arise in his heart. He had left the message on the table!

He stumbled out of the bedroom and hastened through the floor. When he reached the living room, Tony was standing at the window, looking outside. He turned around to Sherlock when he heard him but Sherlock looked at the table. The piece of paper was still there, lying in the same place. But then he caught Tony's gaze and knew that he had read it.

“Oh fucking shit!” he screamed and smashed his fist on the table. How could he always be so damn careless!

Tony was closing the distance between them with long steps and grabbed his shoulders. His hands were as big as Sherlock's and very strong. “Listen, no need to freak out now. Focus, please. Did you talk to the guy?”

“Yes, yes, he will help us,” Sherlock brought out, trying to calm himself down but his voice was shaking.

“I'm sorry, Sherlock, I shouldn't have looked at that - it's personal. But let me set things straight: you won't find a more open-minded person than me. I don't mind! Please concentrate on finding my daughter now.”

But Sherlock couldn't believe that he should be that lucky once more. “You don't mind?”

Tony smiled. “No. I actually find it rather… interesting.”

“That's certainly a way to describe it,” Sherlock mumbled. His pulse was slowly getting back to normal. He took the note and stored it carefully into his pocket. He had to get his senses together now. “Listen, I think we can agree that we will have to be very discreet about each other's secrets, and, in my friend's and your case, the identities. I don't want to cause him any trouble. And there is still the chance that he might not find her. Or that something goes wrong when we try to free her.”

“I know,” Tony said hoarsely. “I can guarantee you, whatever happens, I will not do anything to harm your friend. And of course your own secret is safe with me.”

“I don't know why, but I trust you.” Mycroft would certainly see that completely differently…

Tony smiled. “I'm glad that you do. And it's mutual. You will bring Nina back to me. I just know that.”

“I'll do my best. I'll go to my friend now so please give me your phone.”

The client shook his head. “I'm coming with you. Remember, you trust me! And I have a car that will bring us there quickly. It's not far I guess?”

“No, it's not. Have you made sure that nobody followed you?”

“Oh yes. I'm not daft either, Sherlock.”

“I'd have never thought that. Okay, let's go then. Lucky, come on. We'll visit Billy and Bobby!”

Lucky barked and Tony raised an eyebrow. “He did understand you, right?”

Sherlock smiled fondly. “He understands everything. And he likes you. He's never wrong.” He opened the door and let Tony step outside first.

“Animals always like me. They can feel how much I adore them,” the Brazilian explained.

Sherlock nodded. Lucky certainly did. In this moment his secret phone vibrated and he pulled it out.

_ I'm sorry, too, Sherlock. Can't wait to be with you tonight. Be careful with your case then, this sounded a bit strange to me. I'll leave as soon as I can. I love you so very much. MH _

Sherlock smiled and he saw Tony looking at him curiously. “Good news? You… did look pretty sad when you came to the door.”

“Yes, good news,” Sherlock said. He was feeling much lighter now. But now he had to concentrate on the first case in months that really interested him. The game seemed to be on again!

They went downstairs and the door of 221A was opened. “Oh, Sherlock, do you… Oh, hello!”

Sherlock grinned. Apparently, Tony's alpha male beauty did not leave Mrs Hudson cold.

“Good afternoon, my lady.” Tony offered her his hand. “I'm delighted to meet you.”

Would she pass out now? But Martha shook his hand, staring at him with wide eyes. “The pleasure is on my side.” Sherlock believed that in a second. He introduced them to each other, calling him  _ Tony _ and Martha  _ Mrs Hudson _ . She seemed to be reluctant to let his hand go but finally she set him free.

Tony bowed and Sherlock waved at her with a grin, and then they left the house. “This way,” Tony said, and Sherlock followed him to a black limousine, making sure that nobody was watching them.

*****

“Oscar, this is Tony, the father of the girl I told you about. I hope that you don't mind that I brought him with me.”

The hacker, who was surrounded by his huge dogs, glanced at the good-looking client. “If you think I can trust him, I guess I do.”

“Be assured that, whatever happens, you have nothing to fear from me. As I suppose what you do is not exactly legal?” Tony reached out a hand and Billy and Bobby started licking it.

Oscar grinned and waved them inside. “I see Sherlock didn't tell you a lot about me. Well, let's say I find…”

“…creative solutions to difficult problems,” Sherlock said along with him and they both laughed.

Oscar shut the door behind them. “Indeed. The program is ready so we can start right away. Don't worry, we will know very quickly from which phone the message was sent. And then I will trace it and find out where they are now. What happens after that is another question but I'm sure that Sherlock will find a way.”

Sherlock was impressed by his skills, his calm self-confidence and the trust Oscar was putting in him. He realised that Oscar was indeed what he had called him before. A friend.

They followed Oscar through the house and settled in front of a huge computer screen. “I won't bore you with technical explanations. I will simply get the file on my computer, and the program will provide us with the place where this phone is in about ten minutes.”

“And what if it's switched off?” Tony asked.

“That doesn't matter. This program would be able to trace it if it was lying on the ground of an ocean.”

Sherlock and Tony watched him work for a few minutes, and then the computer indeed spat out a mobile phone number. After some more working, a map appeared on the screen with a blinking red point.

“James Street number 8,” Oscar said. “That's where the file was sent from and that's where they still are.”

“My God,” Tony mumbled and Sherlock surprised himself by pressing his forearm.

“I told you that he's good. We'll need to find out more about this house.”

But Oscar was already on it. “There are two parties living there,” he said after typing away for half a minute. “A family named Miller-Powell on the first floor, and two men living in a civil partnership, named Christopher Pemberton and James Wood.”

“Does any of the names ring a bell?” Sherlock asked Tony.

He shook his head. “Not at all. But of course they could know them. Or perhaps one of the flats is empty and they are just using it, making it impossible to connect them with it. Impossible until now.” He sounded very impressed.

Oscar smiled. “Piece of cake. So, what's the plan, Sherlock? We'll find out in which flat they are and storm in and shoot them?”

“That sounds rather exciting but I'd prefer doing it a little more low-key. But of course we must know where exactly they are and how many guys are in there.”

“I could just ring the doorbell and ask for a glass of water,” Oscar suggested.

“I don't think they would open up. No, I'll send someone there to have a look around. Neither of us can do it because they may not see us before we go in there.”

“So you want to bring someone else in? John Watson?” Tony asked.

“No, John is not available anymore. I will send a guy named Bill Wiggins. He's completely trustworthy and up to every trick. Nevertheless he will not know more than that we need to find out what we are dealing with and that these guys are dangerous. He's not exactly a fighter so I can't take him with me.”

Tony shot a glance at Oscar, clearly thinking that he was no better choice at that.

“Don't judge the book by its cover, Tony. There's much more to Oscar than what you are seeing.” He would not tell his new client what Oscar had done. Tony would have to trust Sherlock's judgement. And he seemed to do it.

“I'm sorry,” Tony apologised. “After what you just did, I believe that in a second. It's just rather unusual that someone who is so good with computers is also capable of standing up in a fight.”

Oscar grinned. “I know that I look like the typical nerd so I don't mind your doubts. But let's say that you better don't mess with my dogs.”

“I see. Obviously I would never do that anyway. I feel blessed to meet two such interesting people on the same day. I just wish it was under better circumstances.”

Sherlock listened to them with half an ear while he looked up Bill Wiggins’ number for the second time that day. But this time he didn't think of asking him for drugs… Bill answered the phone quickly. Sherlock explained what he wanted him to do, and the chemist promised to immediately take care of it and find out as much as possible about the situation without raising suspicion.

While they waited for him to get back to them with the information they needed, Sherlock was sitting on Oscar's couch, half listening to Tony explaining to Oscar what had led to the kidnapping and what he was doing back home in Brazil, half thinking about a ruse to get into this house and get hold of Tony's daughter without getting her hurt. He didn't care if they had to kill the kidnappers or not. They would have to go in there prepared to do it, but they wouldn't shoot if it was avoidable. Sherlock didn't want to end up in prison or have Mycroft save his arse again. Mycroft. He had always been at the back of his head, through every step he had made since meeting up with Tony. He knew that he would probably disturb him, but he had to try to talk to him. He got up and went to the bathroom, taking both phones with him so he wouldn't miss Bill's call on his usual phone.

Mycroft answered the call at once.  _ “Hi honey, where are you now? Is everything alright?” _

Sherlock smiled and felt his heart get warm. “Yes, I'm fine. What about you? Any news?”

_ “Not much I'm afraid. I just got out of a meeting and will rest a bit before, you know, that party. I wish we could meet but as I am still tired and you are busy, we'll have to wait until tonight I'm afraid. Sherlock, you will be there when I come home, won't you?” _

Sherlock realised that his text had been a little too dubious. “I will do all I can to be there. But I have to admit, my case is a dangerous one.”

_“Sherlock! Are you saying that you think you could be… hurt?”_ _Or killed_ remained unspoken.

“Of course I will do my best to avoid that. I just wanted… you to know that if I don't show up, it's not because I don't want to.”

He heard Mycroft swallow. He knew that Mycroft was thinking  _ what the hell is he risking his life for, risking our love for - after telling me to take care of myself again and again? _

“I know what's on your mind now. But this case is important, and it will be over tonight and then I'll be yours. Forever.”

_ “You know me too well, Sherlock. But I know that lately I've been constantly hurting you by my need to fulfil my work duties, and I'm really the last one to tell you that you should not engage in this case, especially since I've always pushed you to go on being the clever detective. Just be careful, honey. I don't even want to imagine that you could be hurt again. I should come to you now.” _

“No, please, try to relax a bit. I swear I will come home tonight. I'm not sure when it will be over, but I promise to call you at once when that’s the case. If you're okay with that.”

_ “Sherlock, of course I am. I think we'll need to talk tomorrow or latest on Sunday. I don't want any bad feelings between us. I guess I got a little too confident over the last weeks. But I don't take you for granted, and it would break my heart to lose you over these bloody difficult times. Or worse,” _ he whispered.

“You won't lose me. To nothing and nobody. I will take care of myself and come back to you in one piece, and I will change my behaviour towards you. I know you don't need me to take care of you, and I will show you how much I love you.”

_ “But I do need you to take care of me, Sherlock - I would have broken down days ago if it hadn't been for you. I hate to have to go to the office tomorrow, but I won't do it on Sunday, we will do what you like then.” _

“Then we'll go to bed early tomorrow so you will be fresh for a sex-marathon.”

Mycroft laughed.  _ “That's spending our leisure time to my liking. I love you, Sherlock. More than you'll ever know.” _

“I love you all the same, Mycie. Get some rest now and don't worry about me, be nice to the ambassador tonight, and then we'll be sleeping in your bed as soon as we're both finished with our duties.”

_ “Alright, so be it. Love you, bye.” _

“Bye.” Sherlock ended the call, knowing that Mycroft would be definitely worried about him. He knew that he probably shouldn't have mentioned the dangers of this case to him, but they had agreed on being honest to each other, and it had felt so good to talk to him. But he knew that now he had to concentrate again. And with perfect timing, Bill called him.

*****

“We should do what?!” Oscar blushed. “Um, well, yes, it could work but…”

“Please, Oscar, it's for my daughter. I know it's demanded a lot but I need you to play along, so to speak.”

Sherlock could have sworn that there was a little sparkle in Tony's black eyes, despite his worries. “I think that's the only way. They will never get suspicious. Nobody thinks that gay men could harm anyone.”

“Ask Gianni Versace,” Oscar mumbled.

“Alright, but you have to admit that this was a big exception.”

“Probably. Alright, yes, of course I will do it. I'll see what I can find in my wardrobe, and then we can go.”

“Well, perhaps you should… practice a little before?” Tony threw in. “I mean, it would be very inconvenient if you realised then that you can't do it.”

Oscar stared at him, and Sherlock knew what he was thinking: that Tony was torturing him. “Please, Oscar, he's right. Nina's life depends on how convincing we are.”

“Fuck, yes, I'm sorry. Let's go ahead then.” He sat down on the couch next to Sherlock. “Just do it.”

“No, you do it. Find out where your limits are and then stretch them out.”

Oscar swallowed hard. “Okay.”

“It's not as if I was very keen on it if that's any comfort to you.”

“It's not. Ah, fuck, alright.”

And then Oscar bent forward and kissed Sherlock. Actually he was merely brushing his lips over Sherlock's, and the detective was surprised how this touch alone was turning him off. And then Oscar increased the pressure of his mouth and Sherlock was starting to panic, desperately trying not to show it.

“You are not cheating on him,” he heard Tony quietly say. “It's just a ruse.”

Oscar pulled back a little. “He knows it, too?”

Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment. “Yes. It was an accident. Please keep that to yourself. Both of you.” Of course he would tell Mycroft about it. But not just now…

“Of course,” Oscar promised and Tony said: “I doubt I will ever meet your brother.”

“No, why should you,” Sherlock admitted. “Okay, I'm sorry, let's do it again. I know we are both not feeling comfortable with it, but I don't see another way.”

Bill Wiggins’ mission had been even more successful than Sherlock had hoped for. Bill had found a place from where he could look into the flat downstairs where they family lived, without being seen, and he had watched two dark-haired men walking around. Figuring that this was the place that Sherlock was looking for, he had tried to find out if the male couple that lived in the flat above was at home. He had watched the house for several minutes from his safe place and had not seen anything from them. Oscar had found out which car they were driving before, and it was not there, either. Bill had decided to walk past the house slowly and had been approached by a little poodle. While he had been touching the dog, his owner - an old lady with violet hair - had asked him if he was a new neighbour. Bill had told her that he had tried to visit James Wood, and she had let him know that the couple was on vacation for a week - by accident at the same time as the family living in the flat under theirs. She had talked and talked and It had been rather difficult for him to escape from her and then he had called Sherlock immediately.

Sherlock had thought it through for a few minutes. He didn't know if the kidnappers were acquainted with any of the residents so it would be too dangerous for him and Oscar to pretend being the gay couple. But what if they were faking to be friends of them, pretending to be using their flat while they were away? He could hardly imagine that the gangsters had friendly contact with the two guys so they wouldn't know if they tend to let other people stay there in their absence.

His plan was to get at least one of the kidnappers to come out of the flat they were occupying, making it possible for Sherlock and Oscar to overwhelm one after the other. He knew that it was risky, but it was still much better than to just storm the flat and hope that they would surrender to their weapons. Bringing Nina back to her father uninjured was the priority. If he was honest, he would have preferred having Lestrade involved, but that would not be possible, Tony wouldn't accept that.

Only months ago, Sherlock would have died for such a dangerous case, but now that he had so much to lose, he was a lot more aware of the fragility of life. He had promised Mycroft to spend the night with him and he needed and wanted to keep this promise.

So as he - to his own surprise - admired and liked this man he had just met, he wanted to reunite him with his daughter, but at the same time he didn't want to risk Oscar's or his own life. The ruse had to be successful. This was why he now grabbed the back of Oscar's head and finally really kissed him, suppressing his lousy feelings about it. They both had to get used to it, save the girl, and then they would never speak about it again.

*****

An hour later everything was ready. Both Sherlock and Oscar were wearing light, simple jackets and baseball caps to appear as unobtrusive as possible until they arrived at their destination. Their looks would change quite a bit then. They had put on the transparent bullet-proof waistcoats that Tony had brought. Sherlock was hiding it with the sinful waistcoat he had gotten in Edinburgh while Oscar would be exposing his thin arms in a sleeveless black shirt. They were both wearing blue jeans, but Oscar had put Sherlock's chaps over them. On his thin legs they were casual enough to not cause him any problems in moving quickly. Bill had brought very gay-looking leather caps for them that they would put on in the last moment. Oscar had giggled when they had tried the outfit on, and even Tony, who had been very tense, had grinned. The guns would be hidden behind their waistbands. Sherlock had also added his handcuffs and one of Lucky's balls to his collection, they were stored in his waistcoat. The toy would serve as a gag if necessary.

The fake couple would take Oscar's black car and park it a street away from the house. They would not be followed there on their way back; both kidnappers had to be at least unconscious by the time they were leaving with Nina. 

Tony brought them to the door. He would stay with the dogs in Oscar's house and wait for them. “Good luck, boys,” he said and shook hands with Oscar. But he embraced Sherlock instead. “I know you will bring her back to me, and I know you will go home to your partner tonight. Thank you so much for all you are doing for me. I will never forget it.”

Sherlock was surprised and touched by his words and caught himself enjoying the embrace, which made him feel a lot guiltier than he had felt for kissing Oscar. “It's alright, thank me when we all come back.” He was not quite as hopeful as Tony was. The Brazilian had given him as much information about the brothers as he could, but it hadn't been very cheerful to say the least, and Sherlock didn’t know for sure how Oscar would react if it came to a shooting. He wondered if he should have tried to get John to join in. But even if John had not already told him and Mycroft that the times of case-solving were over for him, Sherlock just couldn't have kissed John again. He did trust Oscar though, and judging from the cold-blooded murder he had committed, he would probably hold himself greatly. He did know how to fire a gun as he had assured them several times.

It was after eight-thirty when they drove into the street they had chosen for parking the car. It was dark outside which would help them stay unrecognised.

After getting rid of his jacket, Sherlock put on a pair of thin, transparent gloves and watched the dark and thankfully not very busy street while Oscar parked the car, slipped out of his own jacket and then fumbled with the chaps before covering his hands with gloves as well. Sherlock would have preferred to not let him wear the chaps but Oscar didn't look gay in the least and they, combined with the lather cap, would hopefully add to the ruse a lot. Sherlock had figured that the Brazilian brothers didn't know much about gay men, and giving them a cliché would be helpful. “Ready?”

“Yes. Let's get the girl and show these motherfuckers what we think of child-kidnappers,” Oscar said grimly.

“Only shoot if it's necessary, Oscar. Remember Scotland Yard already suspected you to be a murderer before. They may not catch us and our chances are better when there is no shooting.”

“I agree. But that's what silencers are for. Don't worry, I don't feel like Jesse James. But from what Tony has told us, they won't give up easily.”

“They certainly won't. Okay, let's get out and walk there, slowly and without drawing any attention to us.”

“Um, with these caps?”

“They are no problem. They can remember the caps. But our faces should stay as hidden as possible so just look down on your smartphone like everybody else. And make sure that it's on mute!”

“I've done that at home already. And in case I get killed tonight, let me say that this was the funniest day I've had for years. And if you survive, please take care of my dogs. If we both die, well, I hope that Tony or Mycroft will do somehow.”

He sounded scared all at once and Sherlock froze. “Don't even think about that, Oscar. You'll need to keep calm. Remember how cool you were last time.”

“But he didn't have a weapon and he was alone.”

“It's two against two. And they don't know that we are coming. Out now, time is running.”

They finally got out of the car and walked over to James Street. For a Friday evening it was quiet on the street. The people were probably still at home, preparing for a night out, or already in a location. Nobody paid attention to them in the five minutes they had to walk.

Sherlock took a deep breath when he saw the house. “Okay, show time.” He put his left arm around Oscar's shoulder and pulled him close. It felt incredibly strange to walk with a man he didn't desire at all like that. But it would feel equally strange with everybody except for Mycroft, and he was the one man Sherlock would never be able to walk like that with, at least not outside a locked room. With a silent curse he shook off this unwelcome thought and went to the front door. Thank God it was a very simple lock, and Bill had provided him with a lock pick that opened the door quickly. They wouldn't need to get into the flat.

Sherlock smashed Oscar against the wall of the hallway and kissed him fiercely. Oscar moaned loudly and grabbed Sherlock's thighs, avoiding touching the gun. “Baby,” Sherlock growled and urged Oscar to get on his knees. “You make me so hot!” His deep voice echoed through the corridor, and then Sherlock could hear someone coming to the door of the flat where the kidnappers were hiding. The steps stopped and he decided to make things more interesting. “God, yes, just suck me off. Get your slutty boy lips on my dick. God, I'm so hard already, I can't wait to put it in your hot, hairy arse.”

It worked. The door was opened. “What the fuck do you do there?” a voice with a strong accent growled. “Get out here!”

“Oh, who are you, sexy man, why don't you play with us?” Oscar said in a high, very gay voice. He came up on his feet and kissed Sherlock.

“You fucking homos!” The man finally came out of the flat and strode up to them. He was not carrying a weapon. Seconds later he lay unconscious on the floor, and Sherlock tied him up and forced the silicone ball into his mouth.

“Great,” Oscar hissed. “One is finished already.”

“Yes.” Sherlock rubbed his fist absently. One was indeed no danger anymore. But they had to take care quickly of the other one before he realised that his brother was not coming back and perhaps killed the hostage. “In now.”

He pulled out the gun and so did Oscar. Very quietly they entered the flat. They could hear the sounds of a TV and both startled when a voice shouted in Portuguese: “Pedro, what is going on there? Come back in!”

“Look for the girl, there, the two children's rooms!” Sherlock urged Oscar and the hacker obeyed at once. Getting them a plan of the flat had been no problem for him. Sherlock took a deep breath and very slowly entered the living room, silently closing the door behind him to hide Oscar's noises. But the dark-haired man in the white arm-chair heard or sensed him and turned his head away from the TV, saw him and immediately grabbed for the gun that was lying on the table next to him while Sherlock was pointing his gun at his face. “Don't!” Sherlock said coldly. “I will shoot your head off if you move!” The man froze and stared at him with a look full of hatred. He was in his thirties but looked a lot older. His eyes were red and he stank of alcohol.

Then several things happened at once. Sherlock heard the voice of a young girl shouting a warning behind him in the corridor and then two shots were fired, one muffled one, one clearly without a silencer, two men were screaming, and then there was silence. Sherlock froze in terror. There had been a third guy in the flat and either he or Oscar or both of them had been hit or killed by a gunshot.

He had been distracted for a second too long; the man in the armchair got hold of his gun and fired at him. Sherlock let himself fall on the ground, feeling the cap flying from his head when it was hit. He crawled behind the other big chair and fired around. A scream told him that the bullet had found its goal but it had apparently not been a kill shot as the man was screaming in pain and anger. The door behind him opened and Sherlock closed his eyes, then he heard a muffled  _ plop _ , and all that was audible was the sound of the telly.

“Sherlock, are you okay?” Oscar was kneeling next to him.

“Yes. Shit. Are they both dead?”

“I should hope so. At least they both have a hole in the forehead.”

“I'm so fucking sorry.” He picked up his cap that had a bullet hole right in the middle.

“What? What for?” Oscar was genuinely surprised.

“I didn't think there was a third one. He could have killed you!”

“Well, you couldn't know that, could you! And finally my shooter games were paying out.”

“You mean you never actually fired a gun?!” Sherlock felt completely shocked.

“Just once, at a shooting range, but I'd say I've made a pretty good job for the first time!”

Sherlock closed his eyes. But then he was up on his feet. “We gotta get out of here. Is Nina okay?”

“Yes, of course she had to watch me shooting the first guy, but I doubt that she cares too much. She seems to be a tough girl. Her ties were almost through when I came in. Not long and she would have freed herself.”

Sherlock shook his head. This was getting more and more absurd. But they had to disappear. But what should they do with the gangster in the hallway?

“We have to shoot the first guy, too, Sherlock. He can't survive.”

Sherlock looked into Oscar's pale green eyes, not surprised that he had read his thoughts. “I know. But…”

And then they heard loud screams from outside the living room and stormed to the door. Nina was hitting the man they had left out in the stairway; his head was bleeding, he was still wearing the handcuffs but had gotten rid of the gag and was just about to hit the girl back with both tied fists. “Get down,” Oscar shouted and Nina let herself drop on her knees; in the next second another  _ plop _ put an end to the man's efforts.

“Holy shit,” Sherlock murmured. Oscar had in fact killed all three kidnappers. If there were only three… “Are there more of them?” he asked Nina, who had gotten back on her feet again.

“No, just the three of them. Thank you.”

“Did they… do anything to you?”

She shook her head. “No, nothing. But they would have done. Papa would have not given them what they wanted. I told him he should get rid of the skins and stuff but he just can't; he says it's evidence, as if ever any of them would be sent to prison. And he can't destroy it because it hurts him.”

Sherlock swallowed. His entire body was still shaking. “Alright, we will bring you to your father now. I'm Sherlock by the way, and this is Oscar.”

“I know who you are! You are famous! Can I have a picture taken with you?”

“Um, yes, sure. Let's go now. And don't talk, don't look anyone in the eyes, be as calm as possible. We are meeting your father in fifteen minutes and you can freshen up then, okay?” She was looking a little deranged indeed. But he hoped that nobody would notice it. Or wonder why a young girl was in the company of two leather gays.

“Okay. Are you his new partner?” she asked Oscar while they were going to the door. “Will you write his blog? Are you his lover?”

Sherlock couldn't help but grinning. But then he grabbed her bony shoulder. “Nina, you can't tell anybody what happened today. Except your father of course. Nobody, never. This has never happened! We can take a picture together next week, somewhere outside. But you can never talk about how we met! Do you understand?”

She rolled her big, brown eyes. “Do you think I'm stupid? My father is a former drug king who is killing poachers, I do know how to keep a secret!”

_ Drug king _ ? But then he remembered that Tony had mentioned that he had earned a lot of money before. Sherlock had not even asked him how.  _ Killing poachers _ ? That was an even smaller surprise… “Well, we didn't know either of that. So much for keeping secrets!”

Her face got a slightly darker shade. “Oops. But Papa has sent you to free me so he trusts you. And the picture is just for me. I don't have friends here anyway - the girls in my school are just so silly, and Papa doesn't allow me to be on Facebook or Instagram or just  _ anywhere _ . And we can't go out there all together, why don't you hold hands and I walk twenty metres behind you as if I didn't belong to you? You shot them all, nobody will come for me anymore.”

“Sounds reasonable, doesn't it?” Oscar said.

“But take off the gloves before. Nobody is holding hands with gloves.”

“They are transparent!” Sherlock hissed.

“Well, if somebody sees them and wonders, don't say I didn't warn you! And where is John Watson? Why is he not here with you? Not that it's not great that you are here, Oscar! Can we go now? I have to pee and I don't want to do it here.”

Sherlock just sighed deeply and nodded. Leaving sounded so great…

They got to the car undisturbed. Nina was walking behind them as she had suggested, and they got in the car and waited for her until she slipped onto the back seat. Oscar immediately started the car while Sherlock put out his official phone and called Tony. When he answered, he just said: “We got her,” and handed her the phone. He blanked out her talking and just leaned his head against the headrest.

When they entered Oscar's garage, Tony was already waiting with wide open arms, and Nina jumped out of the car and threw herself into them. Sherlock rather crawled out, feeling limp and exhausted and relieved. He was pulled into a crashing embrace seconds later while Lucky was dancing around them, making happy noises.

“I knew that you would bring her back, thank you, thank you,  _ thank you _ ,” Tony mumbled into his ear.

Sherlock let himself sack against his broad chest for a moment but then he pulled free. “It was my pleasure. But thank Oscar - he killed all three of the kidnappers.”

“Three? My God…” Tony embraced Oscar as well and the hacker looked pretty happy and proud of himself.

“So, now we'll have to see what happens when they discover the bodies,” Sherlock said. Probably Lestrade would come to him to help him find the killer… He looked over to Nina, who was happily stroking Oscar's huge dogs. He started to take off the leather waistcoat.

“Don't worry about them, they are being removed as we're speaking and the house will be cleaned, oh, did you bring the weapons? They will disappear as well.”

“Who will do all that? I thought your men are all in Brazil?” He got rid of the second vest as well.

“I told you that I have connections, Sherlock. But I didn't trust any of them to bring my girl back, and I was right about it. A gangster smells a gangster in a second. You two are no gangsters, and your ruse has apparently worked perfectly.”

Sherlock nodded. “Well, if you excuse me now, I want to go home.” He slipped into his shirt.

“But why don't you stay a bit so we can celebrate together?” Oscar looked at him sadly.

“No, not now, sorry. I want to go home now and wait for my man.”

“I understand of course. Greet him from me, would you?”

“I will. And thank you, Oscar. You saved my life, and you saved Nina. I could have never done that without you. I would appreciate though if you didn’t mention it to Mycroft. I don't know what he would think about it.” In fact he could imagine that very well…

Oscar grinned from ear to ear. “I won't say a word to him. It was great fun. Well, not that it was funny to shoot them. But it was all in self-defence.”

Sherlock looked at him. He was sure that he wouldn’t have sleepless nights because of that. If they were lucky, nobody would ever know what had happened on this evening. They had been already lucky that apparently nobody had heard the shots out of the gangster's weapons. He trusted Tony to take care of everything else perfectly.

Tony surprised him with laying a huge hand on his cheek. “I will be forever in your debt, Sherlock. Whatever you might need, don't hesitate to turn to me with it. You have my number and my email address. Keep them. Let’s stay in touch, please. And you will hear from me for sure latest on Monday.”

“Thank you, Tony. I'm glad Oscar and I could help you and Nina. And I would definitely like to stay in touch. Bye now. Lucky, come on.”

And then he walked the few streets to Mycroft's house with his dog. When he arrived, he let himself fall onto the couch and immediately called his man. He had really no idea what he should tell him about the events of the evening. Preferably nothing at all.

Again Mycroft answered in an instance.  _ “Is everything okay?” _

“Everything's fine, Mycie. The case is successfully closed. I'm in your living room now, and will have a shower and then wait for you.”

_ “Okay. I'm glad that you are at home. You are not injured, are you?” _

Sherlock smiled. “No, not in the least. And what about you, how's the dinner party?” No need to tell him how close he had been to get shot into the head.

_ “There is no word in the English language that would describe it adequately. Expressions like boring, tedious and dreary are not sufficient.” _

“That sounds great. How much longer will you have to endure it?” It was half past nine now.

_ “I don't know, at least an hour I'm afraid. But the ambassador is not as much in his party mood as he usually is so it won't be too much longer. You sound tired, why don't you sleep until I come home?” _

“Will you wake me up?”

_ “Yes, if you want that.” _

“I do. Just kiss me awake, no matter how late it is.”

_ “On the lips or…?” _

“You can choose! It's all yours, Mycie. I am yours.”

_ “I love you, Sherlock. More with every day.” _

“So do I. Now go back so you don't cause an international crisis. I'm here and I won't go anywhere.”

_ “It won't be long.” _

“I love you, honey. Bye for now.”

_ “Bye.” _

Sherlock looked down at Lucky. “Hungry? Or did you have enough dog biscuits at Oscar's?”

“Woof!”

“Okay, but just two!”

He fed his dog, then he took a quick shower and cuddled up in Mycroft's bed with Lucky. When he dozed off, he hoped to dream about his lover before he would come and wake him up with a kiss.

*****

Mycroft leaned his head against the seat and allowed himself to close his eyes when the car started to drive off. To bring him home to Sherlock.

He had left earlier than the ambassador had liked - the notorious party king's mood had cheered up and he had wanted to have fun with his guests. Mycroft had thought that he obviously was having a little too much fun with an automobile tycoon's wife, considering the annoyed looks her husband was giving him. Mycroft had watched that with at least a hint of amusement, and then he had excused himself to the ambassador as soon as possible. The man had pouted shortly, but Mycroft had spoken to him before dinner and cleared all difficulties and now he had told him he just needed rest, and the ambassador had been generous and let him go with a hard pat on the back. This man was just incalculable.

But he didn't want to think about him anymore - now it would be only Sherlock and him and Lucky of course. He had felt a small pang of disappointment when it had become clear to him that Sherlock didn't want to talk to him about this mysterious case that he had solved tonight. But then, the case-solving Sherlock had been the one before their romantic relationship; it had always been a part of his life that Mycroft had not participated in. And if Sherlock was about to get into the flow again, it would make it easier for Mycroft to concentrate on his duties. He didn't like to be excluded from any part of his lover's life though, but he knew that it was silly to feel like that. As Sherlock had said: he was not a child, and as the grown-up man he was, he had the right to have one part of his life just to himself. It was a bit ironic though that he had apparently found back into enjoying his profession now that John Watson had disappeared from his life.

After entering the house, he hurried into the bathroom downstairs. Even though he was longing to see his partner, he didn't want to do it in the state he was in, sweaty and smelling of cold smoke. So he showered and shaved quickly before he went upstairs, dressed in a bathrobe.

He did make light in the bedroom, only to dim it down as much as possible. Sherlock, tightly wrapped in his blanket, was sleeping on his back, Lucky at his feet. The dog woke up and wagged his tail, and Mycroft caressed his little head. “Go downstairs, Lucky,” he whispered then and Lucky jumped off the bed and ran outside. Mycroft had stopped quite some time ago wondering about the dog's intelligence. He watched him leave with a smile, and then he slipped out of the robe and lay down next to Sherlock. He admired his beautiful face for a moment before his lips softly touched this sinfully sensuous mouth. It took Sherlock only two seconds to wake up, and then Mycroft was almost crushed in a powerful embrace, a big hand slid up on his body to press his head down so he deepened the kiss, and it became needier with every second. Mycroft let his hand slide under the now loosened blanket, finding Sherlock naked and completely erect. No words had been spoken so far and they were not needed. Sometimes panting and moaning spoke louder than words.

Mycroft broke the kiss just to move onto licking and sucking at Sherlock's throat and his collarbones. His lips brushed over the nearly hairless skin of his chest, and he spent several minutes with licking and sucking his nipples, alternating between them so neither of them had a reason to feel neglected. And all the time his right hand was sloppily moving up and down on Sherlock's cock, his pre-cum making his efforts smoother. Whenever Sherlock seemed to be close to climaxing, he slowed down his movements, even left his cock alone for some seconds to stroke his thigh instead. His own dick wasn’t any less hard than Sherlock's, but it remained untouched for now.

“Mycie,” Sherlock finally mumbled against his cheek, “if you don't let me come now, I will bite off your ear.”

Mycroft laughed. “Okay, as I'd look pretty silly with only one ear, I will stop torturing you.” He kissed him again, putting all his love and desire into their lip-locking, and then tightened his grip and started massaging him firmly.

Sherlock moaned loudly into his mouth and then his entire body tensed and he released himself over Mycroft's busy fingers and his own stomach. While he was still shivering and panting, Mycroft bent down and lapped over the wet, sculpted, tattooed skin, licking up every drop of semen he could get, while he was going on pumping Sherlock's still hard dick, which led to yet another small eruption that was equally absorbed by his eager mouth within seconds.

“Oh shit, what are you doing to me?” Sherlock said hoarsely, his body shaking and his voice trembling.

“I don't know, it seems it's all wrong - if I don't let you come, you're complaining, if I let you come twice in one minute, you're complaining, too,” Mycroft teased him and earned a playful punch against his upper arm.

He was urged to kiss Sherlock again. “I love you, Mycie,” the detective whispered soon after, “I fucking love you so much. I'm sorry that I made you feel bad today and I swear I will not be so overprotective again. You are very capable of deciding yourself what you can bear.”

Mycroft was thinking about how he had been the one to protect Sherlock all his life, and that this was how it had to be because he was his younger brother. Ironically enough, Sherlock had never liked it, and Mycroft knew why meanwhile. It was unnatural that Sherlock now felt he had to protect him, but if he was really honest, he did like it. It was nice to have someone care so deeply about him, to be worried about him. But he also hated to have caused Sherlock to be worried all the time for days now. And he hated even more to have hurt him during their phone call. “Don't be afraid of showing me your feelings, Sherlock. I guess we both never learned to argue properly without hurting one another. But I know that whatever you said just meant that you love me, and please, don't ever forget that the same goes for me. I love you from the bottom of my Iceman heart and that will never change. So why don't we say I'll try to save my strengths and you'll try to stay on the good side of being protective?” Irony all over again as Mycroft had never managed to do that towards Sherlock…

Sherlock smiled at him, and his eyes were begging for another kiss. Mycroft happily obeyed, and his cock brought itself to memory when Sherlock's left arm was slung around his waist and his long fingers moved southwards playfully until they were rubbing and massaging his hole until the tip of his middle finger penetrated it.

But since Sherlock had just climaxed so heftily, Mycroft knew that he wouldn't be able to top him now. And despite being tired, his body and soul were crying for him uniting with Sherlock right in this moment. He turned around and grabbed the bottle of lube from the nightstand. Sherlock immediately turned to lie on his side, facing away from him, and Mycroft deftly lubed up his quivering entrance and his own leaking penis, and then he was in Sherlock, his front pressed against Sherlock's backside, skin on skin from shoulders to feet, his arms tightly wrapped around his lover, and then Sherlock moved backwards to force him to penetrate him deeper, and he obeyed and rocked his hips so his cock slid into the hot, contracting canal to the base. Both of them moaned and then Mycroft started to fuck him with increasing power. His right hand found Sherlock's again hardening dick and he masturbated him in the rhythm of his hammering hips.

“Fuck, Mycie, that's so good, you are so good, oh, yes, take me hard,” Sherlock growled and Mycroft felt his orgasm building up, his balls contracted, and then he emptied them into Sherlock with a low scream. He felt Sherlock caressing his arm until the last shudders of his climax had vanished, and then Sherlock freed himself from his embrace, got on his knees and frantically beat off right over his face until he came with a scream of his own and Mycroft caught his seed with his tongue. And then Sherlock returned into his arms, and Mycroft's eyes fell close and he mumbled: “I love you,” before he fell asleep.

*****

When Sherlock opened his eyes again, it was after eight in the morning. His bladder was full but besides that, he was feeling very good. The long sleep had refreshed both his body and his soul.

He looked at Mycroft and his heart was about to burst when he saw him still sleeping tightly, his features soft and relaxed. Fighting the impulse to kiss him, Sherlock very slowly stood up from the bed. Mycroft needed all the sleep he could get, so he would just leave him alone and take Lucky for a walk. As silent as possible he scribbled a note for him, put it on the nightstand and left the bedroom after grabbing a shirt, shorts and sneakers as well as his blue mobile.

After a short visit to the loo downstairs, he fed the dog and then left with him. It was a cool morning, and he started to jog to the park. There were a few other people with their dogs who greeted Sherlock nicely, but Oscar was not there. Sherlock remembered that he still had his chaps, but he was sure that Oscar would give them back soon.

While he was throwing the ball for Lucky, he mused about the events of the last evening. He had felt shaken and shocked after what had happened - a feeling he had never had during earlier cases. The wonderful encounter with Mycroft and the long sleep had helped him to store these feelings away and he hoped that he would never have to remember them. He looked up a news page on his phone and didn't find anything about a shooting in this area of London, nor was mentioned that three dead bodies had been found. He really hoped that the guys that Tony had called had done a good job with cleaning up the scene. And he knew that he would never take such a case again. There was no way he would risk his life like that once more. And he hoped that Mycroft would never find out that he had done it yesterday.

Half an hour later he entered the house. Lucky ran straight to the living room, so apparently Mycroft was up now and waiting in there. Sherlock ruffled his damp hair and then followed his dog. After going in the room, he froze. Mycroft was sitting in an armchair, the dog next to him, and on his lap was the leather cap.

Sherlock cursed internally. Why the fuck had he brought it with him? He should have thrown it away at once. He met his lover's gaze and shuddered when he saw several suppressed feelings in Mycroft's eyes; he couldn't even really name them. But anger was certainly one of them…

He cleared his throat, still standing frozen. “Good morning, Mycie.”

“Good morning, Sherlock. Did you have a nice run?” His voice was calm and friendly but there was a certain undertone.

“Well, yes. You were still sleeping when I woke up so I thought I shouldn't disturb you and went out to give Lucky some exercise.”

“That was very considerate of you.”

“So, you did sleep well?” Sherlock grew more nervous with every passing second. When would Mycroft start to explode?

“I did, thank you. I'm feeling quite refreshed. So, Sherlock, what is this?” He tilted his head to look at the item in his lap.

“It's a cap,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Oh, really? It's a leather cap, isn't it?”

“I guess so. It could be fake leather though.”

“I think it's real leather, from the smell and how it feels.”

“Must be then.” Sherlock stepped from one leg to the other. If it went on much longer, he would have a mishap. In fact he would shit himself out of his nerviness.

“So, I have never seen it before. Is it new?”

“Yes. Bill, Bill Wiggins bought them for us yesterday.”

“For us? You have one for me as well?” His tone was light and casual.

“No, I meant, for me and Oscar.”

“Oh, I would have never thought Oscar would wear something like that. Did you two go to a fancy-dress party? With a Village-People-motto?”

“No, we… needed it for the case.” So, they finally got there.

“Oh, do tell! You know, I almost figured that out myself, because there is A FUCKING BULLET HOLE inside of it!”

Lucky whimpered and ran out of the room, and Sherlock cringed at the anger that suddenly had gotten loose. “I'm sorry, Mycie, but you see, nothing happened, I don't even have a scratch! And I told you that the case would be dangerous!”

“But you did not tell me that they shot at you!” Mycroft took the cap and threw it against the wall. “How can you not tell me that!”

“Because you have enough problems - I wanted to tell you later. And it's over, the case is closed, the client took care of the bodies, and there will never be a case like that again.”

Mycroft swallowed hard. “The bodies. So you killed people?”

“No, Oscar did it. I was not quite prepared for facing three guys and got distracted. Oscar saved my life, and the life of the hostage. He was great, really. Even though he never shot at anyone before.” In fact, he had hardly ever shot at any _ thing _ at all. But perhaps that was a detail Mycroft didn’t have to know.

Mycroft just sacked down in his chair. “Oh, Sherlock. I was so close at losing you forever, and you didn't even tell me.”

Sherlock finally stalked over to him and kneeled down before him, putting his hands on his thighs. “I'm sorry, Mycie. I swear to you, this will never happen again. Me not telling you and a case like that at all. I don't want to lose my life now that I've found you. Perhaps I was not at my height of case-solving abilities because I hadn't really had any dangerous cases for months now.”

“And why did you do it now? What was so special about this case? Why did you not call Lestrade if there was a hostage situation? Or me?”

“Tony didn't want that. The kidnappers had threatened to kill his daughter if the police got involved.”

“That's what kidnappers always say, Sherlock. But the police has special teams for freeing hostages, and so does the Secret Service. Tell me what happened, please. Come up, sit down here.” He patted on his right thigh and Sherlock shot up and threw himself on his lap, slinging his arms around his neck and moaning in pleasure when Mycroft embraced his waist.

“I just didn’t tell you to save you pain, Mycie, please believe me. I love you so much.”

“I love you very much, too, Sherlock, and that's why you have to tell me something like that!”

And Sherlock told him the story, mentioning Tony's work, the ruse, even the kissing with Oscar. He sighed in relief when he saw the sparkle in Mycroft's eyes when he told him about dressing up like a clichéd gay and pretending to make out with Oscar in that staircase. But of course his look changed a lot when he described what had happened afterwards. And against his former decision, he told him about Oscar's inexperience with weapons.

“My God, Sherlock, that was so fucking close. A few centimetres lower and you would be dead now. You know, when I was in the car last night on my way here, I thought I'll need to let you have your detective work and not ask you to tell me everything about your cases. But now…”

“I promise you, there will never be a case like that again.” In fact he would have preferred to not have any cases at all anymore…

“Alright. Perhaps we should expand our agreement of me taking better care of myself and you refraining from being overprotective to you not risking your life for people you have never seen before and to finally share every piece of information of that importance with me. Anything else you want to tell me while we are at it?”

Sherlock swallowed. There was another detail he had not mentioned. “Tony knows about our relationship.” His voice was hardly more than a whisper.

Mycroft went even paler than he had already been and grabbed Sherlock's bicep so hard that he winced. “What? How could you tell him!”

“I didn't! I just forgot your note from the morning on the table when I went out to call Oscar. He saw it, but Mycie, he will never tell anyone!”

“How can you know that - you just met him yesterday!”

“I do know it. He will keep our secret not only because he has a lot more of them than we do, but because he likes me and it's as if we’ve known each other for ages already, just like with Oscar. I swear, you don't have to worry about it.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “Alright. I will trust your judgement. It's not as if I had any choice anyway.” He paused. “So you went into danger because you connected with your client on an apparently much deeper level than usual. Is he good-looking?”

“Mycroft! I didn't do it because I fancy him! I just thought how great it is what he does for the animals in his country, and he was worried so much about his daughter. That's all!”

“So he is good-looking.” Mycroft sounded flat and it broke his heart.

“Yes, very. But he's no danger for our relationship, in no way!” He cupped Mycroft's face with a big hand. “He's not because I love you, have always loved you and only you, and I always will.” He bent down and kissed him, and after a second of hesitation, Mycroft's grip around his waist tightened, and he reached up with the other hand and gently touched the back of his head, giving into the kiss that was full of love and tenderness and reassurance.

After a few minutes spent so lovely, Sherlock heard the clacking of little claws and turned his head to see Lucky standing in the open door, looking at them but hesitant to join them. “You can come back in, sweetie, there will be no more shouting.” He looked at Mycroft, who smiled.

“No, none at all. I'm sorry that I've frightened you. Come here!”

And Lucky ran to them and jumped on the armrest, and Mycroft took him in his free arm, and then he kissed Sherlock again.

*****

They spent the rest of the morning with doing some grocery shopping together, had lunch, and then Mycroft had to leave to go to the office. Sherlock embraced him tightly before he opened the door. “I hope that everything will be fine with the mission, and I hope that you will find this bloody traitor nevertheless.”

Mycroft kissed his cheek. “Yes, it's horrible - we beg for the mission to be successful and hope that there will be no more victims, on the other hand we might only find this bastard if he sabotages it and finally makes a mistake so we can track him down. It really sucks.”

“You will find him, Mycie. Somehow.” They kissed again and then Mycroft left, very reluctantly as Sherlock noticed. Perhaps because he would miss him, perhaps because he was afraid of what Sherlock would do in his absence…

But Sherlock did not plan to do anything except for going to the park again. He had asked Mycroft to call him as soon as he knew what had happened during the mission and again when the meeting was over so Sherlock would be at home when he was free to go.

“Let's go again, Lucky,” he told the dog. “Time for another round of funny ball-catching!”

Lucky barked and almost fell over by wagging his tail, and Sherlock laughed and they made their familiar way to the park. And this time Oscar was there, playing with his own dogs.

“Hey, you two, great to see you!” he greeted them with a big grin.

“Hi Oscar.” Sherlock bent down to touch the two huge heads that were being pushed against his thighs. “Seems you are not severely traumatized from yesterday's events.”

They sat down at a free bench. “No, not really.” Oscar shrugged. “Perhaps I should be. But it was almost like playing a computer game. We were the good guys, and the bad guys died. I think that's how it should be.”

“We two could be related,” Sherlock stated and Oscar laughed.

“Perhaps we are! I would love to be your brother! I mean… Not that brother,” he stuttered and blushed.

Sherlock giggled. “I guess you are more traumatized by our kissing then by the kill shots!”

“I don't say it wasn't nice to kiss somebody again after breaking up with my girlfriend a couple of weeks ago. Actually… I liked it.”

Sherlock froze.  _ No, please. Not another John! _

Oscar noticed his reaction and hurried to add: “I mean, I'm obviously not gay and I wouldn't want to have sex with a man. But you do have some nice lips!”

Sherlock cleared his throat. “Thanks, Oscar, but… perhaps you should refrain from saying anything like that when Mycroft is anywhere near us.”

“God, no. I would like to keep my head!” They both giggled now and Sherlock felt relieved.

“Oscar, I can't thank you enough for what you did yesterday. Without you being so cold-blooded and simply breathtaking, I would be dead now, and so would be Nina. I owe you so much. Now we are definitely even.”

“Oh Sherlock, I must thank you! I was so bored the last couple of weeks, and so depressed about my son - this was a great adventure for me. I already told you: meeting you and Mycroft was the best that happened to me for years! And Tony as well, he's a great guy. He asked me if I could help him in his fight against the poachers. A lot of the organised poaching is processed in the dark net. Taking off the people who shoot these poor animals is one thing, but you need to get to those who are profiting from it. Of course I will help him.”

“Does that mean you will go to Brazil?”

“Not necessarily. I can do that from my living room. But I might visit him there and see what this is all about. And actually, the only thing that holds me here is our friendship. I don't have any other friends, Sherlock. I was never good at making friends. I tend to lose myself in my work and reality never appealed to me.”

“Are you sure that you are not really a Holmes?” Sherlock asked while shaking his head. “We have so much in common, it's almost creepy.”

“I take that as a huge compliment!”

And then Sherlock's phone buzzed. “Sorry, that's Mycroft.” He grabbed Oscar's arm when he made a move to stand up. “Don't be silly, stay here. Hello honey!”

_ “Hi baby. The mission went fine, nothing unexpected happened. Which is good and bad at the same time.” _

“Yes, I guess it is. What will you do now?”

_ “Endure the meeting; I don't know how long it will take but I should be at home in latest two hours. There is not much new so it will be all about new strategies to find this creature. I will call you as soon as I'm out of here of course. What are you up to?” _

“Oh, I'm in the park with Oscar and the dogs.”

_ “Hopefully I didn't interrupt you kissing him!” _ Sherlock was relieved that Mycroft sounded light-hearted and not really jealous.

“No, but we did talk about it. He said he liked kissing me.” Oscar cursed and Sherlock grinned.

_ “What?! Well, I can't blame him. And as long as he knows he will never be allowed to do it again…” _

“Don't worry, Mycie. He knows that I'm yours and only yours. I love you.”

_ “And I love you, honey. I need to get back there now, but I'll be in touch again very soon. Don't do anything stupid or dangerous!” _

“I won't. I've had enough danger for a lifetime now. Bye darling.”

“Why did you say that?!” Oscar asked when he had stored the phone in his pocket.

“Because he brought it up and he wants me to tell him everything.  And because I like to tease him and he knows that you are not gay, don't worry. He is jealous sometimes but not of you.”

“Of Tony then?”

Sherlock winced. “Why would he be? He never saw him and probably never will.”

“No, but since you tell him everything…”

“Oscar, what is that supposed to mean! I did nothing with Tony and I didn't even think about it!”

“Sorry, Sherlock, I didn't mean to upset you. But there was some tension between you two, you can't tell me you didn't notice that.”

“He's not even interested in men!”

“No, but you are. And come on, he's so unbelievably handsome that even I took more than one look at him. It's nothing bad about finding someone attractive even if you are in love with somebody. And he finds you attractive, too, straight or not.”

“Of course he's attractive - I'm not blind. But you know, my relationship with Mycroft is a lot more than just being attached to somebody, to spend time with somebody. I told you that we have loved each other for twenty years before we got together. We are breaking a taboo with our love, perhaps the biggest one of all, and not because we have a crush on each other or like to make out. We do by the way. But it's so much more than that. He's my life and I'm his. We mean everything to each other. We would die for each other, and kill for each other. I can't understand myself why I risked my life that way yesterday because I have so much to lose now. I will never do that again. I would drop my job in an instant if I could, but I'll need to go on being the clever detective. My entire life becomes a ruse as soon as I'm not with him. Or with you by the way. Somehow I thought this case would be the same as the others - a walk in the park so to speak, and an exciting one for a change. But it wasn't, and it hurt Mycie.” He sighed. “Sorry for this long monologue. I just wanted to say that Tony was a client, a very appealing one without a doubt, but that's all and it shouldn’t even have happened. I'm glad we could help him though.”

“He's very grateful. We did talk for long after you were gone, Nina slept in my bed in the meantime. Oh, and you can expect a mail from him on Monday. He arranged everything on Friday even before he went to you but banks are not working at the weekends.”

Sherlock looked at him, feeling confused.

“The money, Sherlock! God, you've really forgotten about it, haven't you?”

“Oh.” Sherlock realised that he indeed had. “But he won't do that, will he, paying me so much.”

“He's a man who keeps his word, Sherlock. And he is very rich apparently. Drug king and all…”

Sherlock felt dizzy all at once.  _ Ten million pounds _ was echoing in his head. “What about you then?”

“Oh, you know I don't need money. Not anymore. I had my share of taking it from bad people, and I didn’t give everything away. But it was always dirty money I can assure you.  I still do earn a lot with my programming.”

“I will call him and let him know that it isn’t necessary. He can use it for his work instead.”

“He will not accept that. Money does not solve the problems his country has. If that was possible, they would be solved already.”

“It doesn't solve my problems either, Oscar. Even the biggest amount of money won't buy me what I want most.”  _ Running away with Mycie, starting a new life _ .

“You should take it anyway. It never hurts to be rich. Listen, I would love to keep you company for longer, but I have a deadline to keep. Oh, I still have your chaps, when shall I bring them?”

“What about Monday afternoon? I should be at Mycie's house around four. If not, I will text you.”

“Alright, sounds good. I hope that you and Mycroft have a nice weekend when he comes back. Bye then. Boys!”

Sherlock watched him and his dogs leave, and then he took Lucky on his lap. “Ten million pounds, can you imagine that? Mummy and Daddy getting so rich? What shall I buy you then? A golden ball?”

Lucky licked his chin and he smiled, knowing that his dog didn't need anything else than he and Mycie taking care of him. And Sherlock only wanted the same: being with Mycie and Lucky, leading a life of love and care. He would never allow anything to jeopardise that. “Let's go home, fuzzy head. What do you think, would you like to take a bath?”

*****

When Mycroft came home from his meeting, they had dinner together and then cuddled up in front of the telly. Eventually Sherlock let his hand find its way into Mycroft's trousers and he ended up kneeling in front of the couch and devouring some dessert. They went to bed early, kissing all the way upstairs. Mycroft had told him that he needed to keep his phone on the entire weekend, but Sherlock had already expected that. Of course both of them hoped that there wouldn’t be a call from his office.

They fell asleep - Sherlock lying half next to, half on Mycroft, kissing his neck until his eyes fell close. In the early morning hours, he woke up from strange noises and a body moving under him, shaking and shivering. He made light and watched - terrified - how Mycroft was dreaming; his forehead was sweaty and he was mumbling in his sleep. And Sherlock understood enough to know that the nightmare was about him. He put a hand on Mycroft's chest, feeling his heart hammering, and gently shook him awake.

“Mycie, wake up, it's fine, I'm safe.”

“Sherlock, what…” He opened his eyes widely and panted, then his fingers closed around Sherlock's wrist. “God, it was horrible. I dreamt that you were dead and then I died, too.”

“It was just a dream, honey, just a nasty dream. I'm fine, and nothing will harm us.”

He kissed him on the cheek. “Try to get back to sleep, baby, I'm holding you, come on.” And he pulled Mycroft close, sighing happily when he laid his head on his chest now, and he gently stroked his lover's back until his calm breathing showed him that he was sleeping again. But it took Sherlock a long time to find back into sleep himself.

*****

On Sunday morning, they went down into Mycroft's gym and worked out side by side while Lucky was using the dog tread with flying ears. Their shower together led to some severe mutual cock-sucking, and after lunch Sherlock took care of the dishes, sending Mycroft to the living room to relax, and when he went there to join him, he was surprised by a completely naked Mycroft, who was lying on the couch, presenting him his lube-dripping hole. As he was a polite man, Sherlock of course didn't refuse this generous offer, and within a minute he was undressed and a part of his anatomy was disappearing into a dark, tight, hot and very wet canal. He moaned and pressed kisses on Mycroft's hairy shoulder, licking this sensitive spot behind his delicate ear. And then Mycroft's phone started to chirp.

“Oh, fuck!” they moaned simultaneously, and Sherlock grabbed the black mobile from the table and handed it to Mycroft. “Take it.”

“Sherlock, I can't talk to anyone while you are in me!”

“Yes, you can. I won't move. Go ahead!”

“Hold still! Dear God, it's the US embassy… Holmes … Good afternoon, sir.” He listened and Sherlock slightly shifted his hips. He grinned when Mycroft shot a glare at him and rolled his eyes. “Thank you for your invitation, but I'm afraid that's not possible… I'll have some important private obligations… Yes… I wish you a good afternoon.” He ended the connection and put the phone back on the table. “That’s unbelievable.”

“He wanted you to come to another party?”

“This man has nothing else on his mind. Anyway, where were we?”

“Fulfilling an important private obligation!” Sherlock rocked his hip and he moaned.

“Oh yes, there we were. Come on, fuck me, Sherlock, fuck me like you mean it!”

“I always mean it!” And he showed Mycroft how serious he was about wanting him to just feel great.


	28. Chapter 28

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Angst...and friends...

When Mycroft woke up that Monday morning, it was lighter in their bedroom than he was used to on work days. Apparently he had not heard his phone-alarm. The clock on the wall told him it was almost eight. He must have slept ten hours straight, without nightmares, thank God. But he was still not really feeling awake, and it took him some effort to get into a sitting position. He looked down at his lover who was still sleeping. Their intense love-making in the evening had obviously shattered them both. Tenderly he stroked a curl out of Sherlock's face and was graced by a sleepy look out of his beautiful eyes.

“Morning Mycie,” Sherlock mumbled. “You're late, aren’t you?”

“Yes, I must have overheard the alarm.” Mycroft grabbed his phone from the nightstand and looked at a black display. “Great, the battery is empty.” He finally left the bed. “I should get ready now. Do you want me to take you with me in the car?”

Sherlock stretched. “No, Lucky and I will jog to Baker Street.”

“Alright, I will hop into the shower now.”

“Not before kissing me,” Sherlock admonished him.

“Of course. I'm not really awake I guess.”

After a long and tender kiss, he left to get ready in the bathroom. In the meantime his phone was charging, and when he came back, it vibrated several times. He must have missed a few calls. He cursed and looked up his messages. The afternoon had been quiet and he knew that the phone had still been working before they went to sleep. So something must have happened in the night. The PM had tried to call him, great. But he decided against calling him back now; he would see him very soon anyway. He called his driver and then went into the kitchen. He made coffee and then Sherlock joined him, already finished with his own morning hygiene.

After a quick breakfast, they parted at the door, kissing extendedly - in the house of course - before Mycroft heard his car arrive. “Have a nice day, honey, I'll text you later, okay?”

Sherlock caressed his cheek. “Sure. I hope that you are not facing any bad news again. I love you.”

“I love you, too. Take care!” It was more than a phrase and both of them knew it.

“Don't worry, Mycie, I will not do anything dangerous. And now go and kiss the arse of the PM for not being reachable.”

Mycroft slapped him on the arse instead and tickled Lucky's head, then he grabbed his briefcase and left the house for another busy day at work.

When he was about five minutes away from the office, his phone chirped again; it was Anthea.

“Good morning, Anthea, I know, I'm a little late. What happened?”

“Good morning, sir, the US ambassador was stabbed in the arm last night, by Lord Wormsey.”

“Oh. The jealous husband.” It didn’t really surprise him after seeing how the diplomat had come much too close to the tycoon's wife.

“Well, it's nothing serious but the PM is raging. He keeps asking why you don't answer your phone and why you were not there last night. The ambassador has told him that he asked you to join his party.”

Mycroft sighed deeply. “I thought he has security for keeping him safe. I wasn't aware that this was _my_ job…”

“It certainly isn't. But you know him, sir.”

“I do indeed. Well, if he bothers you again, tell him I'm almost there.”

“I will. See you then.”

Mycroft managed to get to his office undisturbed. He greeted Anthea and put his briefcase on his desk. But before he could even walk around to sit down on his chair, the PM stormed into his office, of course followed by his ever-present PA Albert Scott.

“You should have seen this coming!” the PM shouted without even greeting him. Scott just crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes, looking completely stupid.

Mycroft looked at the PM calmly. “Sorry, sir, but you cannot be serious.”

“You were there on Friday, together with the Lord, his wife and the ambassador. I was told there was bad blood already then!”

“Well, I did see that His Excellency couldn't keep his fingers from Lord Wormsey's wife. But I could not foresee that he would try to kill him for it. I think that was a bit exaggerated.”

“This is not funny! You are not funny! You don't respect me! I know you think you are so much smarter than me, but I tell you what, you are just a smartarse!”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. “I refuse to tolerate this tone!” He saw Anthea coming into the room with a stony face.

“And you should have been there last night!” The PM's face was getting redder with every second.

“And do what - throw myself into the way of the knife? Because the damn man can't keep his hands to himself? You must be kidding! And I'm not a slave! I don't work on Sundays if it's not for an emergency, and I wouldn't have thought a party was one!”

“You don't put much effort in your work anyway! You did last week, yes, but before you were never seen in your office in the evenings anymore. You've been slipping for months! And now we see what comes out of that!”

“I can't believe that you are saying that, after all these years of working twelve hours a day or more, never taking holidays, never…” He startled when the phone in his pocket buzzed with a text. _Sherlock_ …

“And you keep delegating everything to incompetent people!”

“No, they’re not incompetent, and I do take care of a lot myself, how dare you…” In this moment a sharp and unbearable pain was crashing through his chest, making him reach up to his heart with both hands. He was tumbling and felt that he started sweating, and everything around him was turning numb, except for this pain, _oh God, this bloody, endless pain_ …

He saw Anthea running to him, pushing Scott out of the way, and then she was at his side, embracing his waist. He clung to her shoulder while she was already talking into her mobile. “An ambulance, at once, a forty-three year old man shows symptoms of a heart attack, he's conscious.” She gave the address and put her phone away, laying her free hand on his cheek.

„I have you, sir, calm down please,” she said. “Sit down.”

Mycroft let himself sack on the ground, clinging to her until she dragged him the last inches to the desk so he could rest against it. “Call Sherlock, tell him I…“

“I'll tell him to come to the hospital. You'll be fine, sir.” She freed him from his tie and opened the first buttons of his shirt.

He grabbed her arm which led to even more pain. “Tell him how much…”

“Please, stay silent,” she interrupted him and then turned away from him. “Everybody out of here!” Mycroft had never heard her raising her voice before. Through fast blinking eyes, he saw the Prime Minister shifting from one foot to the other. “Will he…?” Mycroft heard him say and it sounded as if it was coming from very far away.

“OUT OF HERE!” Her voice was echoing through the room.

The part in Mycroft's brain that was still working was not surprised that they obeyed. He could hear sirens approaching.

“They'll be here in a minute,” Anthea said. She grabbed her phone again. “I'll call your brother now.”

“No,” Mycroft croaked, “my phone. Different number, might not have the other on.” His voice was a mere whisper and sounded strange to his own ears.

She let her hands slip into his pocket, and after a few seconds she said: “No, it's Anthea - Mr Holmes, listen now, your brother will be brought to St. Bart’s hospital in the next minutes, intensive care… Please, calm down… He could be having a heart attack… He's conscious and responsive… Yes, but he shouldn't talk now… I'll hand you over… Sir, don't speak, just listen!” She held the phone so that Mycroft could hear Sherlock talk.

 _“Mycie, baby, stay strong, I'm coming to the hospital, do what she says, don't try to talk, I love you, I love you… God, I_ love _you!”_

Mycroft could hear that he was crying. He opened his mouth but Anthea took the phone away. “Later, sir, be calm now. Sherlock? The emergency doctor is here now. He's in good hands.” She ended the call and stood up when a young man with red hair kneeled down beside him; a capsule was put under his tongue, an oxygen mask on his face, and another guy reached for his arm with an infusion, and then everything went dark.

*****

Sherlock had just arrived in Baker Street when Anthea had called him. He had texted Mycroft only a minute before, just to tell him that he loved him, that he was missing him, despite the fact that they just had parted. And now he was in danger, in danger of _dying_ , and Sherlock had to get to him, now. He could hail a cab or…

He ran to 221A and hammered against the door. “Martha! Open up!” he croaked.  Lucky barked, sensing his tension and shock. _He will lose his Daddy_ … _God, no_ …

His landlady was there within seconds. “Sherlock, what is wrong?”

He wanted to answer her, but he just couldn't speak.

“Sherlock, tell me! What happened?”

“Mycie,” he brought out. “He had a heart attack.” He heard himself talk, and he sounded like an alien.

“Oh my God, when?”

“Just now, they are bringing him to hospital. But I know he's dying, just as we speak.” He would never see him again, he just knew it all at once.

“Sherlock, focus! Where are they getting him to?”

“St.… St. Bart’s.”

“I'll drive you there, let me get the car, oh, Lucky, you'll stay here!” The dog slipped into the flat and she grabbed her keys. “Wait outside, Sherlock, I'll be back in a minute!”

Sherlock followed her out of the house and leaned against the closed door, not able to think clearly, move, or simply function. And then the sports car was shooting around the corner and stopped right before him, and he finally made his legs move and crawled into it.

Sherlock barely noticed their way. While they were racing to the hospital, ignoring red lights and sometimes driving on the pavement, the same thought was running through his brain non-stop _. I will lose him, I will lose him_. When he saw the familiar building, his senses slowly came back, and then Martha stopped right in front of the entrance.

“Get out, Sherlock, I will park the car and follow you. Move!” Martha said and he almost fell out of the car, and then he was running the last metres to the entrance and to the corridor that led to intensive care.

Anthea was waiting for him at the reception. He could see concern and compassion on her face.

“How is he?” he whispered breathlessly, expecting her to say that Mycie was dead.

“He's in the operating theatre, I don't know anything yet. But calm down, Sherlock, they will do what they can. Come on, sit down now.”

He led her guide him to a visitor's chair and he dropped on it, starting to cry again. “It's my fault - I saw it coming, he was so worn out, almost passing out in front of me, and I let him go to work again, watched him getting more exhausted with every day.”

The PA sat down next to him and laid her hand on his arm. “No, Sherlock, it's not your fault at all. I saw that all, too, and I tried my best to get him through these horrible last days, but with these problems coming up, he just couldn't slow down anymore; that's not in his nature. You know him best, you know that he just keeps going, his duties are sacrosanct to him. He must have noticed that he needed rest as he decided to not go to that bloody party last night, but this has built up for a long time.”

“But I caused him even more trouble, unnecessary trouble,” Sherlock whispered. “If it wasn't for me, he wouldn't be here.”

“If it wasn't for you, this would have happened months ago. His work rate was much too high for way too long. He never took care of himself because he felt responsible for everything. You made him realise that he needs to delegate some duties; he was finally willing to not work until the nights anymore. Last week brought this all back, but even if he really had a heart attack - and remember we don't know that yet - he will get through this, he’ll be fine, because you are his reason to live, not the work anymore. His love for you will give him strength.”

Sherlock stared at her in shock. “You know it,” he whispered. “God, you saw my text when you used his phone to call me. And yes, I said to you he was rolling around in his bed instead of sleeping…” Mycie would kill him, that was for sure. How many more people would get to know about their forbidden love because he was being careless and silly?

“I noticed both, but I knew it long before, Sherlock. Don't worry about that, your secret is completely safe with me. Focus on him now and on your own well-being.”

“What if he doesn't get through,” Sherlock whispered. “What if he dies in there? I can't live without him. I just can't.”

“You won't have to, not for a long time. He’ll be fine, Sherlock. I just know it.”

He sobbed again, and then she embraced him and he cried at her shoulder.

“Are you here for Mr Holmes?” a deep voice startled Sherlock a few minutes later. He lifted his head to see a doctor standing in front of them.

“Yes, I'm Anthea Hunter, his assistant, and this Mr Sherlock Holmes, the brother of the patient.”

“Oh, hello. I'm Dr Kellerman.”

“Is he dead?” Sherlock asked with wide eyes and wiped over his running nose.

“No, Mr Holmes, and your brother did not have a heart attack. It could have developed into one though if this hadn't happened today. He's suffering from an instable angina pectoris, which caused the pain in his heart, and this led to a massive panic attack that increased the pain and the shock. While we speak, Dr Jordan is placing a stent, going in through his groin, and he will need medication, probably for the rest of his life, but he will recover soon, I can assure you. The angina is not so bad that he would need a coronary bypass surgery. The operation will last about twenty minutes, and then he will stay under surveillance here until tomorrow morning, and then he can go home.”

“My God,” Sherlock murmured, his heart almost bursting from relief.

“Of course, adding to the medication against blood clotting, his high blood pressure and for preventing high cholesterol, he will have to stop smoking if he does, exercise, even though he is slim, and try to lower his stress level.”

Sherlock barked out a desperate laughter. “Dear God.” How was that supposed to work, now, in this situation? And actually, how at all…

“I will talk to him about all that,” the doctor promised. “He did not receive a general anaesthetic so you can see him for a short time when he's in his room, but he needs rest. You can come back in the afternoon again if he feels like it.”

“He will get rest,” Anthea said firmly. “How long should he stay away from work?”

“At least the next three days, but we have to see how he will be feeling then. He should see his usual doctor for the follow-up. I will make sure that he gets a sick-certificate until Thursday.”

“You can have it handed over to me,” Anthea suggested. “I will take care of passing it on today.” Sherlock thought that she might be afraid that if she didn't do it, Mycroft would be at work again the next day…

Sherlock thanked the doctor, who left with Anthea to give her the certificate. He felt his body finally relax and he realised that he had balled his hands into fists. He opened them, stretching his hurting fingers, and leaned back against the wall. Mycroft wouldn't die. He would be fine and he just had to do what the doctor told him to. _Just_ …

He looked up when he heard fast steps. Martha came to him, breathing hard. “What's new, love? I'm sorry, it took me so long to find a parking lot.”

“He will be fine. My God, I was so scared.” And yet again he sobbed at a woman's shoulder, searching for comfort in Martha's embrace. After several minutes he was calm enough to tell her what the doctor had explained to him.

When Anthea came back, they sat together. Anthea handed Mycroft’s switched-off phone to Sherlock and he carefully stored it in his pocket. Mycroft wouldn't be allowed to use it in the hospital and it was safer anyway if Sherlock had it. He wasn't so sure that Mycroft wouldn't switch it on for work matters... It seemed to be ages until a nurse showed up and told them that one of them could see Mycroft now. Of course it was Sherlock who followed her.

Mycroft looked so small and fragile in the huge bed, Sherlock thought when he saw his lover. He was surrounded by machines he was attached to, and his face was pale, but he smiled when he saw Sherlock. The nurse left them alone, and Sherlock dragged the visitor's chair to the bed and grabbed Mycroft's right hand that wasn't connected with the infusion.

“Hi baby,” he whispered. “How are you feeling?”

“Okay,” Mycroft mumbled. “Could have been worse.”

Sherlock felt tears running down his cheeks once more. He wanted to cheer Mycroft up but he was still feeling so shaken that he couldn’t stop crying. “I thought I would never see you again. I thought I would come here and they'd tell me that you're…” He couldn’t finish his sentence, the word kept sticking in his throat.

“I know, I thought that, too, honey. But it seems I was overreacting - it was just a panic attack and an almost closed arteria. It's embarrassing, really.”

Sherlock couldn’t believe his ears. “What? How can you say that?! You know it's the first stage of a heart attack! You'll need to take medicine, and you'll need to get more rest. You remember our deal? You promised to take better care of yourself and save your strength!”

“I know, baby. I'm sorry that I scared you so much. The doctor told me that I’ll have to stay at home for several days. But then I’ll have to go on working, Sherlock, we need to find the traitor before he causes even more damage.”

“Mycie…”

“Please, Sherlock, you know I don't want to be belittled.”

“I'm not doing that! I just… can't lose you.” Sherlock sobbed and leaned forward to rest his head on Mycroft's chest, but then pulled back quickly when he realised what he was about to do.

“It's okay, love, you can do that. Just don't hit the electrodes. Come here.” Mycroft gently pulled him closer with the hand he was holding, and Sherlock buried his face at his shoulder. He breathed in the beloved scent, but then the grip softened and Mycroft’s hand slipped out of his. Sherlock looked up in terror, but then he realised that Mycroft had just fallen asleep. The heart monitor was showing normal lines, and he was breathing steadily and quietly.

Very slowly Sherlock stood up, not wanting to disturb his man's sleep. Carefully he stroked his hand again, and then he realised that something was missing on it. Very quietly he left the room, constantly watching Mycroft's peaceful face until he closed the door behind him. He looked for the nurse that had brought him there. “Excuse me, can you tell me where his ring is?”

“We needed to take it off before he was operated. He can have it back now, sir, and his watch as well.” She disappeared in a room and came back with a small bag.

“I will keep it for him, he just fell asleep.” Besides that, Sherlock wanted to wear the ring now. He knew that he was being silly - Mycroft would only be here for one day and one night and then he would be back home with him. But he wanted to put the ring on, wanted to have something from him. If anyone who didn't know about them (although he wondered if there still was anybody…), he would just tell them that he was looking after it for him. He stored Mycroft's golden watch in his pocket and then he looked at the plain golden band, reading the inscription once more, which made him cry again. After wiping off the tears, he tried to put it on his right ring-finger, but it was too small. His lover's fingers were exactly as long as Sherlock's, but they were thinner. On the left equivalent it fit although it was pretty tight.

Even though he would have very much liked to stay and see Mycroft again, he knew that he had to let him rest for some hours. If Mycroft was up to it, he would certainly let a nurse know so they would call Sherlock and he would be back within minutes. But even if he didn't, Sherlock would come back in the afternoon to check on him. Until then, he would go to his house, take care of Lucky and try to recover from the shock of thinking that he'd lose him. And he realised that Anthea had not told him yet what had happened right before the attack.

*****

Sherlock was right out fuming when he left Baker Street with Lucky to walk to Mycroft's place. Martha had offered to drive him, but he had just collected his dog and left, needing to move. Otherwise he would have gone to the PM to strangle him. Anthea had told him what had happened this morning, and Sherlock just couldn't believe how this arsehole could have dared talk to Mycroft like that, making him so upset that he had collapsed. But Anthea had asked him to stay calm and not make things worse than they already were. It had not placated him in the least, and he planned to turn his aggressions to the punch bag, imagining it was the PM's face. Of course, if anyone bothered him on his way, he would regret it.

But Lucky and he arrived undisturbed, and Sherlock fed the dog and then went to the gym. Lucky followed soon and used the dog-tread while Sherlock was hammering away on the punch bag. But the anger didn't vanish, and neither did his worry about Mycroft. He didn't know how to handle him once he was back the next day. Mycroft hated to be treated as if he was weak, but this time he just had to take it easy. It had been a shot across the bows, and he just had to learn from it. But if he refused to change his work habits, Sherlock would have to try to convince him - he just didn't know how without upsetting him. He simply couldn't lose him over these difficulties when he had been so lucky to not have lost him to a heart attack.

When he was exhausted from beating up the innocent training tool, he showered and then he packed a bag for Mycroft with casual clothes so he wouldn't have to put on his suit the next morning; he chose a black t-shirt, long tracksuit bottoms and sneakers. Of course it had been Martha who had told him to do that. After placing the bag near the front door, he checked his mobile and put on his laptop. And there was a mail from Tony. He had written a few words about how thankful he was and how well his daughter was, and he had included a link to the website of the Bank of Singapore, and he had also given him an account number and a password.

With shivering fingers, Sherlock went on the site and logged in. He stared at the screen for minutes without blinking once, fixating the statement of an account in his name. Ten million British Pounds, just as Tony had said.

His trance was interrupted when Lucky jumped on his lap. “See that, Lucky, ten million pounds. I wish you could pinch me so I could believe it's real.” And then he laughed when Lucky licked his throat. “That's just as good.”

He logged off and shut the computer down. Then he looked Tony's number up and called him, but his phone was obviously off.

“What shall we do now?” he asked Lucky and the dog barked. “Alright, we'll go to the park.” He just couldn't sit around until it was time to go back to the hospital, and he didn't have any interest in going to Baker Street to solve any stupid cases. And then he realised that - from a financial point of view - he would never have to do that again. He was rich. And he would find out how to invest the money best so he would become even richer. He would be able to live from the interest and also do something good with this money. It still felt so surreal though. He wondered what Mycroft would say to that. Perhaps he would not tell him right away. No need to do any further damage to his poor heart…

The park was rather empty at this time of day, and there was no sign of Oscar and his dogs. Sherlock felt that he didn't want to be alone now. It usually never bothered him, but he was still feeling shaken and angry, and he was sure that Lucky was aware that something was wrong with Mycroft and would certainly like to have his two buddies around him as well. So he called Oscar, and the hacker answered at once.

“Hi Sherlock, how's things? You have another interesting case that requires my assistance?” He sounded as if he would have loved to hear _yes_ for an answer.

Sherlock smiled. “No, not really. But… Mycroft was brought to hospital this morning.”

He heard Oscar gasp. “Oh no, is he injured?”

“No, but he's ill.” He explained Oscar what had happened, and that he would like to have some company as he would only be able to see his lover in the afternoon, if at all that day.

“I'll take my dogs and be right there!” Oscar said and ended the call.

Sherlock had to admit that he was feeling a little better now. He knew that he should call John as well. He could be helpful for Mycroft getting healthy again. And yes, he would have wanted to know what had happened anyway. Sherlock decided to do not call him now but perhaps in the evening. It was so strange. John had been so close to him for so long, but now he was a stranger. Their living together already seemed to be ages ago, not days.

Oscar arrived quickly, and he was bringing sandwiches and biscuits from the bakery around the corner. “I was pretty sure that you haven't eaten much so far today.”

“I did have toast this morning. But thank you, that's very nice of you.”

“If you need anything, Sherlock, just let me know.”

Sherlock smiled at him, and they both ate a sandwich and a huge chocolate cookie. Billy, Bobby and Lucky were granted with a few dog biscuits.

“I tried to reach Tony today. I got an email from him.”

“Oh, the transfer worked, great. You're a rich man now, Sherlock. You'll never have to solve a case anymore!”

“And how am I supposed to explain that to anybody? Oh, a friend and I killed three gangsters for a former drug king who now works in the underground to save animals, and he was so kind to let the corpses disappear.”

“Oh, yes. Might be a little difficult. You could say that you won the lottery!”

“Nobody who knows me would believe that I'd be so stupid to buy a ticket. No, I'll need to go on with this detective crap.”

“Oh wow, I didn't think you hate your job so much.”

“I don't really hate it. It just doesn't mean anything to me anymore. I took drugs half of my life to get over my feelings for Mycroft, and then solved cases so I wouldn't have to do that anymore, and now I have him and don't need a substitute. I just hope… I hope that he really recovers. It's not that this stent was saving all the problems, he might experience that again, and the next time it could be a heart attack.”

“But he will be monitored frequently and he will take a few pills to avoid that.”

“Yes, sure. But he also has to change the way he works, reduce the stress. If he sees this fucking PM next time, I'm sure that his blood pressure will be going through the roof, no matter how many pills he'll be taking.” _And if_ I _see this son of a bitch,_ he _will go through the roof, head first…_

“But he's a very smart man, Sherlock. He must know that. And he has you to remind him if he ceases on looking after himself.”

“I'm afraid he won't let me, Oscar. He hates to appear weak, especially to me. He's always needed to be the strong one as I've always been a little… unpredictable. He doesn't see that these times are over, mostly at least… He wants to be my rock and he can't stand needing help himself. He gets really pissed off when I try to take care of him. Except for in the bed of course. Oh, sorry…”

Oscar smiled. “I don't mind hearing that, Sherlock. You two are a very attractive couple. And he loves you like crazy, every idiot could see that.”

“I'm very happy that you are partly wrong about that, Oscar, otherwise even more people would know about us. You are definitely paying more attention than most people I know.”

“It's still hard to believe that anyone can see you two together and not notice it. But anyway, he loves you and I'm very sure that he wants to be with you as long as possible. So he must take care of himself. I could talk to him if you wanted.” Sherlock froze and he grinned. “Okay, if you think that wouldn't work, I will leave that be.”

“I guess that's better. I'm not sure what he would think if he knew that we talk about him like we do. Actually I'm pretty sure that he wouldn't like it. Besides that, I won't tell him about the money right away. I don't want to shock him even more.”

“Don't worry, I will not mention either of it. But I can ask him how he's doing, can't I? I'd like to come with you to the hospital later if you don't mind and think he'd be okay with it.”

“That's very nice of you, but he's not on a regular station. But, perhaps you could come with me to bring him home in the morning, if you're available, giving us a ride home?”

“Yes, sure! Just let me know when.”

“I will text you as soon as I know.”

*****

They stayed in the park for another half an hour, playing with their dogs, and then Sherlock went back to Mycroft's house after dropping by a store and getting all kinds of things that Mycroft liked to eat. He still felt tense when he had to let Lucky wait outside, but he didn't want to bring him home first, either. But when he came out with his stuff, there was only a little boy touching him, and Sherlock didn't mind that. He was quite sure that Lucky's former owner would not try to get hold of him again. And if he did, let alone today, he would not live long enough to regret it.

After doing some housework, he cuddled up with Lucky on the couch and tried to call Tony again, with no more luck than before. Perhaps he was already on the plane, back to Brazil. He had not asked Oscar. He decided to mail Tony instead to thank him. He was just finished with that when his phone chirped with a call. He recognised the number: St. Bart’s. He took the call with shivering fingers, afraid that they would call him with bad news. But it was just a nurse who told him that he could come over to see Mycroft again.

He told Lucky to be a good boy and wait for him, gave him a big chew bone, and hailed a cab to the hospital. When he got out of the car, he saw Anthea arriving as well.

“He let them call you, too?” he asked when he had reached her. He knew what that meant.

“Don't worry, Sherlock, I won't stay long. I guess he just wants to tell me a few things that have to be taken care of.”

“He shouldn't even think about work!” _Especially after what this idiot said to him…_

“He shouldn’t,” she agreed. “But you know him, Sherlock. He can't just switch it off. And if he knows that I'm going to take care of all important matters, it will be easier for him to get rest.”

Sherlock gave her credit for that. And still he didn't like it. “Perhaps we shouldn’t tell him today that you, you know, _know_.”

“No, I guess that wouldn’t be a good idea. But I think eventually he should be informed. I really like it so don't worry.”

“You like it?!” It was very hard to believe that just everybody who got to know their secret was totally fine with it. Why not just live openly together and tell everybody!

“Of course I do. I was always worried about your brother - being far too much consummated by his work. And he was constantly worried about you.” It was like a punch in the gut for Sherlock, and she realised it. “I didn’t say that to make you feel bad. But you know pretty well that I'm right. You did not make his life any easier. And then, from one day to the other, he came to work a different man. It must have been directly after the events in Sherrinford.” She gave him a questioning look.

Sherlock nodded. “Yes.” He was dying to get in and see Mycroft, but he wanted to know what she was thinking.

“All at once he didn't check where you were all the time anymore, and sometimes I saw him being on the phone or just reading something on the display, with a smile so wide that it could only mean love.”

“It could have been someone else, and he could have just stopped caring about me because he was in love with just anybody,” Sherlock threw in.

“He totally couldn’t. He never graced anyone else with more than one look. He almost panicked when Lady Smallwood tried to flirt with him and of course I knew that he was gay. For a lesbian woman, the signs are pretty obvious. Everybody he ever cared about was you, so it was clear to me that it could have only been you. I was already very sure after he came back to work after being sick. And then there was the day we brought you the dog. The way he smiled when he said he knew the perfect place for him, and the way you looked at him when we came into the flat, and then you two disappeared into your bedroom, closing the door behind you to set up the dog basket. Well, I was around ninety-eight percent sure before, and a hundred after.”

“And it doesn't… disturb you? Disgust you?”

To his complete surprise she blushed. “If you tell him what I'll tell you now, I will deny having ever said it and then kill you slowly and let your body disappear.”

Sherlock grinned. “Agreed. Now spit it out.” But of course he already knew what she would say now.

“The image of you and him together is incredibly sexy,” she mumbled and he laughed.

“And that from a lesbian woman?”

“Yes! But remember, I have never said that!”

Sherlock grinned and shook his head, and then they finally entered the hospital. Of course it was Sherlock who went into Mycroft's room first. Every hint of a smile froze on his face when he saw him, still more or less chained to the hospital bed, his hair tousled, his beautiful blue eyes deep in their holes.

“Oh Mycie, how are you?” he asked, dropped the bag with the clothes and got the chair as close to the bed as possible, grabbing his right hand again.

“Better, honey, don't worry. Just very flat. But I will leave tomorrow at nine. Will you be here?” he asked almost shyly.

“Mycroft! Of course I'll be here! Oscar will bring me and drive us home.”

“Oh, that's nice of him. But we could have taken a cab.”

“He wanted to visit you anyway today, but I told him to rather give us a lift tomorrow. I didn't know Anthea would be here though.”

Mycroft sighed. “I know you don't like that, but some things need to be done, and when I tell her, she will take care of it and I won't have to think about it anymore.”

“You don't anyway. You are sick. And these bastards don't deserve all your efforts.”

“I see Anthea told you what happened. I don't like the man, I never did. But I do understand him in a way - I _was_ not in the office as long as I used to be during the last couple of months.”

Sherlock looked at him, shocked. “You mean, in your opinion, he was right to say these awful things to you?! And you think what, that you should have stayed in the office till the late evening instead of… being with me?” He felt as if someone had emptied a can of ice water over his head.

Mycroft pressed his hand. It was not a strong pressure as he was too weak for more. “No, Sherlock, of course I don't think that. I'm just saying that to him that’s inexplicable. It's not that he knew why I've not been working such long hours anymore.”

“Oh, yes. Of course. And when you go back to the office, what will you do?” _Work fifteen hours a day again, forgetting that you have a private life?_

“I will take care of myself just as I've promised this amazing, beautiful, sexy, smart man who is so crazy to share his life with me.” He smiled and even tried a wink. But then he grew serious again. “We'll need to find this traitor, Sherlock, and then my work hours will be the same or less than before he showed up.” His eyes were begging for his understanding. “I will take it easy for the first days after returning to the office, but then I'll have to work again full power until we got him. But I promise, at the slightest hint that my heart is suffering, I will see a doctor and stay at home and relax.”

“And the next three days you will do that, too, and I'm allowed to pamper you?” Sherlock asked with a slightly threatening undertone. He knew that he had promised to not be overprotective anymore, but this was a situation in which protection was very much needed.

“Absolutely. And… I asked Dr Kellerman when… I'm allowed to engage sexually again. And he said I should wait at least a couple of days, preferably until I saw my doctor for the follow-up check. And we should take it easy in the beginning.”

Sherlock swallowed. “I don't have to tell you again that it's not just about sex for me, do I? I am able to survive a few days without getting at it!” _And if not, I still have two healthy hands…_

“But I want it, Sherlock,” Mycroft whispered. “I want you. And I'll need you to show me that you still desire me, despite of me being such a weak, sorry wreck.”

For a moment Sherlock was speechless. Then he got up from his chair and bent over Mycroft to tenderly kiss him on the mouth. He closed his eyes when Mycroft's lips parted and he could let his tongue slide in, finding Mycroft's to dance the dance of promise and desire.

Then he pulled back, very reluctantly, and laid his hand on his pale cheek. “Mycie, I never want to hear something like that from you again. You know which part of what you said I mean. To me you are the smartest, hottest, strongest man on earth, and I’ll love and want you 'til the world ends. We’ll wait until you really feel well enough, and then we’ll still take it easy first, which means we’ll be lying in your bed, I’ll hold you from behind, and then I’ll fill you up with my big, fat, throbbing dick, slowly moving until I'll overflow you with my hot, sticky seed.”

“My God… That sounds awesome.”

“And it will be! Listen, you look very tired. I brought you some more comfortable clothes. I will put them in the closet and take your suit with me. Is that okay for you?”

“Of course. Thank you, Sherlock, you are really taking good care of me.”

“I love you, that's why I love to take care of you! But I can't take credit for that; Martha admonished me to do that.” Sherlock replaced Mycroft's tailored suit and the black shoes with the casual stuff he had brought. “I will send Anthea in now, and when you are through with telling her what to do - in about five minutes - I will come back in and kiss you again, and again, and then once more, and then I'll leave you alone so you can sleep. And tomorrow morning I'll be back and bring you home.”

“Agreed. I might need ten minutes with her though.”

“Always the negotiator,” Sherlock teased him. “Nine minutes and not a second longer.” He pressed another soft kiss on his lips and then he walked to the door and turned to him before opening it up. “The time will run as soon as she's in!”

Mycroft laughed and his heart felt lighter at once. He smiled at him and then left the room, holding the door open for the PA. “Nine minutes!” he told her and left them alone.

He decided to get some fresh air in the meantime. He stepped outside and froze. Molly was coming in his direction, a cup of takeaway-coffee in her hand. He had not seen her once since the stab-wound-case he had solved for Lestrade.

“Hello Sherlock,” she greeted him, her voice rather cold.

“Hi Molly. How are you?”

“Good, really. Why are you here? You know the morgue is on the other side.”

“Yes, of course. I'm here because my brother was brought here today.”

“Oh, I'm sorry to hear that!” She looked at him with genuine concern. “What's the matter with him?”

He explained to her what had happened in the morning.

“I'm sure that he'll be fine,” she assured him. “Dr Kellerman and Dr Jordan are very good doctors. If he's doing well now, I'm sure that he'll recover completely. Of course he'll have to take aspirin and beta blockers and must be checked through every year, but it's something a lot of people have to deal with, and he can get very old with it.”

Sherlock felt ashamed all at once for the way he had treated her when he had seen her last time. “I'm sorry, Molly - I was a real arsehole when we last met.”

“Yes, you were. But you were not entirely wrong with what you said. About me not really caring about Martin.”

“Are you still seeing him?”

“No, we broke up soon after that. I realised that I really didn't love him enough to be with him. I think I'll stay single now, and if someone comes up, it's fine, if not, I'll be okay as well. I'm quite happy with being on my own.”

“That's good to hear. You are a very good person, Molly, if you have a man on your side or not.” Probably he was getting weak, but he knew that it was true.

“Thank you. And I'm sorry, too. I've heard about John.”

He had to think for two seconds about what she meant, but he managed to not show his confusion. “John, yes. He's getting married soon. And a baby's on the way, too.”

“That was very fast, wasn't it?”

“Yes, indeed. Love at first sight I suppose.” With a little help from a cunning old lady…

“How are you dealing with that? It must be so difficult to see him happy with somebody else.” There was no malice in her voice, just concern.

“I don't see him at all anymore actually. He moved out, and we don't work together anymore.”

“But how do you solve your cases then?”

“Oh, I haven’t had too many that required much effort lately. And I'm fine with that. Last time a friend helped me out.”

“A friend?”

Sherlock smiled. “I do have one or two friends left, Molly.”

“I wish I could be one of them again.” _Oh lord…_ She shook her head when she saw his face. “No, really, I'm over you. Finally. It took me some years but I am. I wish you had told me that you love men. It would have made it much easier for me to accept that you don't want me. Anyway, if you need anything, I'm still there for you. I'll always be.”

“Thank you, Molly, I do appreciate it.” He ran a hand through his hair and saw her eyes widen. _Really, you are over me?_ “That’s my brother's ring, Molly. I just wear it until he is out of here tomorrow. Someone could take it away and he would explode.”

“Oh, that's nice of you. I only want you to be happy, Sherlock. Let's just bury the past. Oops!” She giggled and Sherlock grinned.

“That's a deal. Listen, I need to go back in. The nine minutes are over.”

She looked confused, but then she smiled. “He'll be fine soon, Sherlock.”

“I really hope so.”

“Just be nice to him and take care of him, don't annoy him!”

“I can promise the first two, but the last one is a tough one!”

They both chuckled, and then Sherlock said goodbye and went back into the building to get Anthea out of Mycroft's room. But she was just leaving it when he turned around the corner.

“So, everything's ready?” he asked her.

“Yep, I'm briefed and he promised me to relax from this minute on.”

“Do we believe him?”

“Not quite. But be patient with him, Sherlock. He really needs your support.”

“I'll always have his back!”

She sniggered and Sherlock grinned. “You are naughty. Shall we do a video for you when he's feeling better?”

“Oh, I would kill for that. Go back in now, and say goodbye for today. He's very exhausted. More from the shock about what happened than from the operation.”

“I will. Thanks for everything, Anthea. It's great that he has you to rely on in this cesspool they are calling the government.”

“It's my pleasure. You know, I can't tell the PM to go to hell, but I will find a way to punish him.”

“Just don't bring yourself into danger, Anthea. Even though I suppose you could find a job everywhere. But Mycie needs you.”

“No, don't worry. There are subtle ways.”

From her grim look he believed that in a second. He bade her goodbye and went into the room. He could see that Mycroft could barely keep his eyes open.

He sat down on the chair again and gently put his hand on his forehead. “Everything done? Ready to relax now?”

“Yes. But I will miss you so much tonight.” He sounded sad, and Sherlock hurried to kiss him.

“Oh baby, you have no idea how much I'll miss you. And Lucky, too. But tomorrow you'll sleep in your own bed, on my side, with our doggie at your feet, and I'll hold you tight. Just ignore my erection against your hot arse.” Of course he would have one, and it was better if Mycroft thought he was a sex addict, always ready to go at it (which he was, even though of course it was not just about sex for him) instead of believing he wouldn't find him attractive anymore (which would never happen).

Mycroft smiled. “My hot, hairy arse.”

“Exactly. I can't wait to kiss and lick it again. But only when you are okay with it. Don't rush anything just to please me. I can wait. Perhaps not very long, but I can wait.”

“You can always just beat off in front of me. Wearing your sexy chaps and nothing else.”

“Nothing else than the chaps and the cap with the bullet hole.”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes and Sherlock grinned. “I just wanted to know if you can still look at me like that. Now you're officially going to be fine very soon.”

“You are evil. By the way, you can give me my ring back now. I was only not allowed to wear it in the operating theatre.”

“Oh, yes.” Sherlock looked down on his hand. “Would you mind if I kept it until tomorrow? It feels good on my finger, it's like a piece of you.”

Mycroft smiled. “Of course you can keep it. I wish I could give you one for yourself.”

 _Oh God, I wish that, too…_ Sherlock kissed him on the forehead, the nose and the cheek, and then finally again on the mouth. “I will go now even though I'd love to stay. But you need rest. Just try to sleep and dream of me, but no nightmares! Can't wait for you to come home tomorrow.”

“Neither can I,” Mycroft murmured. “I am sleepy now. Thanks so much for being on my side, Sherlock, I don't know what I'd do without you.”

“You will never find out, Mycie, because I'll always be with you. I love you, in good times as in bad. We will get through this together.”

“Thank you, darling. You don't know what that means to me. What you mean to me. I love you, too.” His eyelids started to flutter and Sherlock waited, two steps away from the bed, until he was sure that Mycroft had fallen asleep. Then he went to the door silently to get home for a night without him.


	29. Chapter 29

Sherlock had spent many nights without Mycroft since they've gotten together, but none of them had been that hard. He was lying in the big bed all alone, except for the warm, little body of his dog in his arms. And he missed his man so fucking much that it broke his heart. He just hoped that Mycroft was sleeping, not lying awake like him - alone in a hospital bed, feeling weak and hurt. And Sherlock did not only miss him like crazy, he was worried about the first days when Mycroft would be at home but still had to take it easy. His lover was so unsure about his desirability for Sherlock, and he would have to convince him that nothing had changed, but on the other hand they couldn't have sex at least for two days, he figured. So he would have to find a way to prove Mycie how hot he was finding him without exciting him so much that he would torture his body with it. And of course Mycroft would feel bad about not being able to go to work. He would do it too soon anyway, and Sherlock was quite sure that he wouldn't be able to suppress his discontent with that. In any way the following days would be a rather big challenge for both of them, and it made him so anxious that sleep seemed to be far away.

Before going to bed he had checked his phone and his computer. There had been several missed calls from John, and he had found emails from both him and Tony. He had read Tony's message first.

_ Hi Sherlock,  _

_ I hope that you are doing well. I'm sorry I missed your phone calls, but I was pretty tied up and couldn't take my mobile with me. No need to thank me - I will forever be in your debt, no matter how much money I’ll give you. Tomorrow Nina and I will return to Brazil. It makes no sense to leave her here anymore, I guess she's safer when she's with me. I wouldn't want to risk your and Oscar’s life again by having to rescue her. I'll be in touch before we take the plane. Damn, I gotta go. See you! _

_ Tony _

He had smiled while he'd been reading that. And then he had opened John’s email, remembering that he had planned to contact him.

_ Hi Sherlock!  _

_ Well, as you never answer your phone anymore, I thought I might have more luck with emailing you. I miss you. I hope that you are doing well. Martha said that you are. Anyway, Kelly and I decided yesterday to have a little party on Saturday, just an informal get-together to celebrate our engagement. I know it’s demanded a lot but we want you and of course Mycroft to come. Molly will be there, too, but I don't think that's going to be a problem. At least not for her. She seemed pretty happy when I saw her last week. Greg and Martha will come as well, I just convinced Anthea to grace us with her presence, and Angelo will drop by for a short time if he can get away from the restaurant. Please come, Sherlock. You will always be my best friend. I know how difficult it must be for you and I'm so sorry how things developed between us. But please don't push me away as a friend. Rosie's missing you as well. I will let her stay up longer just to see you. Let me know if you’ll be available. It will be at 7 pm in Kelly's house. You have the address. If you lost it, I'll give it to you again. Please say yes. And of course you can bring Lucky, too. Call me! Or just reply! We don't want any presents by the way. _

_ John Hamish Watson _

Sherlock had sighed deeply when he'd finished reading. Mycroft would not want to go there for sure. But perhaps they could drop by there for an hour. Martha would certainly be pretty upset if they didn't show up at all, and perhaps it would be rather nice for Mycroft to get out just a bit. And if Anthea was there, he could even check on work without fearing to upset Sherlock. He had at first wondered why she had been invited, but probably they had done that because Kelly wanted to meet some women of her age to be friends with. Sherlock could imagine that she would get along well with both Anthea and Molly. He would ask Mycroft tomorrow if he wanted to go there. Right after telling him how rich they were now.

Sherlock sighed again now. They were so rich that neither of them would have to work ever again. They could have such a nice, comfortable life together. But of course Mycroft would never let go of his damn job. A job that had brought him nothing but stress and pain lately. Brought him into hospital even. Why couldn't he just tell the PM to kiss his arse and quit? He wouldn't have to bother about money for the rest of his life.

“He'll never do that, Lucky,” he mumbled. “Daddy lives for his fucking job. But we love him anyway, don't we?” Lucky licked his throat, and he smiled. Finally he was feeling sleepy, and after a couple of minutes he started dozing off.

*****

Mycroft was waiting for them on a chair near the entrance, the bag next to his feet. He stood up as soon as he saw his lover and Oscar, apparently very happy to disappear from the hospital. “Hello guys!”

Sherlock had to control himself to not kiss him, instead he just laid a hand on his back. “How are you, dear?”

Mycroft smiled, winked at him, and shook Oscar's hand. “Okay, really. They x-rayed my heart and the stent is where it should be. Everything looks good. I'll need to get my medication though before going home.”

“I'll stop at the next pharmacy,” Oscar said. “Do you want to go somewhere else as well?”

Mycroft looked to Sherlock. “Do we need anything?”

He shook his head. “No, I took care of everything. And if we find out that we do, I will get it later. Let's just go home so you can relax.”

Mycroft raised his eyebrows. “I did relax the entire night.”

He looked rather refreshed indeed, Sherlock noticed with pleasure. But that didn't mean he should overexert himself on the first day. “That's fine, but you'll need rest.” Sherlock grabbed the empty bag and had to refrain from embracing Mycroft's waist, not because it would have looked suspicious, but because it would probably have annoyed him.

They went to Oscar's SUV and Sherlock opened the passenger door for Mycroft, and after closing it behind him, he slipped on the backseat.

“You didn't bring Lucky?” Mycroft asked, turning his head to Sherlock.

“No, but he's eagerly waiting for you at home. He knows that you'll be coming back today.”

“Of course he does.” Mycroft smiled at him and Sherlock laid his hand on his shoulder and almost moaned when Mycroft put his warm hand on his. He knew damn well how hard it would be for him to not be all over him as soon as they'd close the door behind them. Mycroft winked, of course knowing exactly what he was thinking.

After stopping next to a pharmacy, Sherlock bought the medication for his lover, and then Oscar drove them home.

“Looks as if we have a visitor,” Mycroft said, sounding surprised, when they got near the house. A black limousine was parked near the door. The car windows were dark, and Sherlock couldn’t see anybody. He felt his body getting stiff. If this was the PM, he would smash his head against the fucking car. And if he was here to apologise, he would let him do that and then beat him up anyway.

Oscar stopped his car next to the other one, and Sherlock jumped out, but Mycroft had opened the door before he could do it.

“Not an invalid, honey,” he said but he smiled.

“Of course you are not, but you promised me to let you pamper you,” Sherlock reminded him.

“That was yesterday,” Mycroft started but Sherlock glared at him and he hurried to add: “Sorry, you can do that for sure.”

Sherlock grinned. “Sounds much better. Hey, do you hear Lucky?” The dog was barking loudly inside the house, and Mycroft smiled. Then the passenger door of the limousine was opened, and Sherlock froze when he saw the man who got out with a smile, storing his phone in his pocket.

“Holy shit, who's this?” Mycroft mumbled, staring at the black-haired, tall Adonis in the bespoke, light-grey suit. The rude expression showed how amazed he was about a certain Brazilian's beauty…

“Good morning, gentlemen.”

“Hey Tony!” Oscar said with a grin. “I thought you were leaving for Brazil today!”

“I will be in the air in about three hours, but I wanted to say goodbye to England's best men!” The handsome Brazilian had reached them and offered his hand to Mycroft. “You must be Mycroft Holmes, sir, I'm pleased to meet you.” He introduced himself, using his full name but immediately suggesting him to call him  _ Tony _ .

Sherlock could almost hear what his lover was thinking:  _ That's him. That's the man he risked his life for. And now I see why…  _ Sherlock cursed internally for not replying to Tony and letting him know what had happened. He had shown up at a very inconvenient time. Of course, a meeting between Mycroft and him would never be convenient…

Mycroft took the hand without hesitation. “I am indeed. And the pleasure is on my side.” He didn't sound too convincing though…

Sherlock swallowed hard. How had Tony found out where Mycroft lived? He wasn't exactly registered in the public phone book. Tony had certainly tried to meet Sherlock in Baker Street first. Had Martha told him where Sherlock was? But then he remembered that Tony had known from the start who Mycroft was. Surely he had special connections…

Sherlock tensed when Tony embraced him slightly. Dear God, what would Mycie think about that? Tony realised very quickly that Sherlock wasn't fond of the body contact and set him free. “Sorry,” he whispered.

“It's alright,” Sherlock answered in the same tone. “Please don't mention the money, he doesn't know it yet. He had an angina pectoris attack yesterday, we're coming straight from the hospital.”

“Damn!” Tony turned to Mycroft. “I'm sorry. I will leave you alone.”

Mycroft shook his head. “No, come in, please. Would you open the door for us, Sherlock?”

The detective hurried to get his key in the lock. The barking got louder and then Lucky ran out of the door and straight to Mycroft, trying to get up his legs. Mycroft smiled and got on his knees carefully to greet him properly, and then they went all inside.

*****

It took Mycroft all of his self-control to not go into his bedroom and cry instead of sitting in the living room, playing host for a man he saw as a threat. Of course he knew that he was being silly. Sherlock loved him, not this perfect creature in his Armani-suit, smelling divine, looking so devilishly great that everybody was paling in comparison. It hadn't helped at all that Lucky had jumped onto the man's lap as soon as he had sat down. The wound in his groin was still hurting so Mycroft couldn't have let the dog sit on his lap. But still, seeing him so familiar with a complete stranger hurt his heart a bit (not literally) and nobody had to tell him how stupid that was.

And Sherlock? Mycroft had watched him tense in  _ Call-me-Tony's _ embrace and then he had whispered with him. It didn't need Mycroft Holmes to figure out that he had told Mr Beautiful about Mycroft's mishap, but there must have been something else. He had not managed to understand it and he wondered what secrets Sherlock was sharing with his client. The client for whom he had almost been killed.

Sherlock asked if they cared for tea, and when Mycroft and Tony said yes, he turned to go into the kitchen. But Oscar held him back. “I can do that. You stay with Mycroft.”

“But you've never been here before!”

“Mycroft, do you mind?” Oscar asked.

He smiled. “Not at all. I'm sure that you are able to find the tea and the kettle. And I'm just realising that I haven't thanked you yet for saving Sherlock's life.” He saw Tony cringe, and it was a tiny bit satisfying. “I do it now. Thank you, Oscar, for bringing him back to me without a scratch.”

The hacker blushed. “Oh, I just reacted by instinct. And I knew that you would kill me if I didn't. But if you want to hear it, you are totally welcome. And now I will try to find the kitchen. Lucky, will you help me?” The dog jumped off Tony's thighs and ran into the floor, and Oscar followed him with a smile.

There was silence for a moment, and then Sherlock came to Mycroft and took place on the armrest of his chair. Mycroft tensed for a moment when Sherlock embraced his shoulder.

“Don't worry, Mycie, remember, he knows it.” Sherlock pressed his arm tenderly.

Yes, he did remember. He shot a glare at the muscular man, who seemed to be feeling a little uncomfortable.

“I can only apologise for my indiscretion, Mr Holmes,” he said with his silky, deep voice. “I shouldn't have read your private message for Sherlock. But when you are in my business, you learn to be aware of everything and gather every possible information.”

“And in which way does Sherlock's incestuous relationship with me affect your business?” He heard both men gasp and felt his cheeks blush. Why the hell did he feel so resentful towards this man? Because he had sent Sherlock into danger? That was a little strange, wasn't it, after the countless times Sherlock had already brought himself in dangerous situations in his life. And why was he feeling so insecure? Because the man was so fucking handsome? Looking so awesome in his expensive suit while Mycroft was sitting there in training clothes, unshaven and feeling sticky, without his usual armour? Because he really thought he'd want to steal Sherlock from him? It was ridiculous. The man was not gay, and he would leave the country in three hours.

“Not at all, of course,” Tony said quietly. “I'm really sorry for that. But I can assure you that I will never tell anybody about it. I have absolutely no problem with it.”

Mycroft put his right hand on Sherlock's thigh. “That's very generous of you, considering the fact that you are actually a criminal yourself,” slipped out of his mouth before he could think. He could feel Sherlock cringe and see the man blush harder, which looked simply striking on his light-brown skin. He felt ashamed all at once and was surprised that Tony didn't show any sign of anger. In fact, he looked rather hurt. “I'm sorry, really. Blame it on the day and actually the week I had. Sherlock has told me what you are doing now, and despite the fact that your methods seem to be rather unconventional, it's an admirable profession. I've seen often enough what poachers did to the fauna of not only your country, not alone killing these awesome creatures but bleeding out entire areas. It's unforgivable, and so was kidnapping your daughter. Even though I think the police could have taken care of it, I'm glad that it turned out the way it did. I will not shed a tear for the men Oscar shot. I just hope that nobody will be after them for it.”

Tony's face had brightened up more with every sentence and now he was beaming at Mycroft, and his smile made him even more attractive. “There's nothing to be sorry for, Mr Holmes. I can understand your concerns very well and I'm grateful for your sympathy and your hospitality and that you didn't punch me when you saw me. I wish I didn't have to involve Sherlock and Oscar in my problems, and I will forever be grateful for the outcome. The police was not an option for me as they would have sensed them and killed my daughter. But be assured, nobody has even noticed what happened in this house. The men have been intruders, and apparently nobody has seen them there. There is no way that anyone will ever find out.”

He stood up when Oscar came in with a tablet with tea and cups, and helped him providing everybody with tea and sugar. Mycroft thanked him when he gave him a cup, and Tony smiled at him again. ”One last thing, Mr Holmes. I know that you are a very powerful man so probably neither you nor Sherlock will ever need it, but should you ever be in need of anything, just let me know and I will do what I can.”

Mycroft thought that this would probably never be the case, but he thanked the man again. Sherlock and Oscar had done him a huge favour, and it was natural that he felt obliged to them, and it sort of touched him that he included him, Mycroft, as well.

They drank their tea, and Mycroft realised that he was relaxing a bit. That Sherlock didn't leave his side was helpful, and Lucky was rubbing his head on his leg as if to say sorry for the time he had spent on Tony's lap. Despite what had happened the day before, he felt pretty good. He was at home with the man and the dog he loved, his heart would be fine, and life would get back to normal very soon. And he had to admit that Tony was really some special kind of man, not only because of his stunning looks.

After drinking his tea, Tony stood up. “I will leave now, I'm sure that you two would like to be alone.” It was a discreet hint in Oscar's direction. The hacker immediately got up as well, and Mycroft was grateful for Tony's sensitivity.

“Of course. And my boys are waiting for me,” Oscar said. “If you need anything, just give me a call. Do you think you'll be in the park later?”

Sherlock and then Mycroft got on their feet, too. “I might be with Lucky for a short while,” Sherlock said with a smile. “And thank you.” Then he turned to Tony. “Have a safe trip, you and Nina. It was really great to meet you.”

Tony made a step to him but then looked at Mycroft for permission. Mycroft smiled, and he embraced Sherlock. “Don't forget me, Sherlock, please stay in touch.”

“Of course,” Sherlock said, hugged his slim waist quickly and then stepped back.

Tony came to Mycroft. “I don't have to tell you that your partner is a very good man, Mr Holmes. And if you forgive me my insolence: so are you. I wish you all the best and that everything develops the way you two wish for.” He made a move forward and then stopped but Mycroft nodded, and he very carefully embraced him as well. Mycroft had to admit that it felt pretty good...

“Thank you, Tony. You can call me Mycroft,” he said. “And I wish you the same.”

He watched Sherlock bringing the men to the door, then he sat down in his chair again. He was feeling a little tired. Perhaps a little rest would be good in the end.

Sherlock came back quickly. “Finally alone!” he said. “Let's go into the bedroom, okay?”

Mycroft bit his bottom lip, and Sherlock shook his head with a grin. “I meant that you could perhaps have a little nap. Maybe we could have it together, all three of us?”

Mycroft smiled. “Of course. But I would like to refresh myself before. I did in the morning, but I still feel a bit sweaty, and I can't shower until tomorrow because of the wound. Would you lend me a hand?”

“Of course I will! I'll just have to try to behave myself.”

“I think I wouldn't be able to get hard now anyway. It sucks. Pardon the pun. But on Thursday we might be able to give it a try.” It was a rather ambitious guess, but he was very determined to give Sherlock what he needed as soon as he could. He would definitely at least lend him a hand or his mouth. Of course he could do that probably even today, but he figured that Sherlock would not accept that.

“I will wait, darling, even though I can't wait. Now let's go freshen you up and then we will cuddle up in our bed.”

“Sounds like a plan.”

*****

Sherlock's eyes got wide after he had helped Mycroft out of his shirt. “My God, yes, of course they had to shave you.” Not all of the body hair on Mycroft's front had been removed, but his belly was smooth, even the pubes were gone. The most part of his chest was still furry though.

“It looks kind of silly,” Mycroft said. “But if you like, you could shave the rest off as well.”

“You know I love your hair, Mycie. It's just so sexy to see your skin all at once.”

Mycroft laughed. “Did you think there was none?” He was leaning against the basin. Sherlock had brought a chair from the kitchen if he needed to sit down. He was so nice that Mycroft could have kissed him all over, instead he had asked him to wash him like an old man. But since he couldn't shower, he needed him to take care of his back anyway.

Sherlock grinned. “Yes, I thought you were a bear. A big, hot, fuzzy bear.” He leaned forward and reached out but stopped before his fingertips could make contact. “May I touch you?”

“Sherlock! I may not be able to have sex with you, and I am pretty flat, but you can always touch me.” He watched the fingers slide carefully over the hairless skin of his stomach. “How does that feel?”

“Very unusual. I like it though.”

“And what do you like better?” If Sherlock said he liked him better without a body full of hair - now that he had seen a smooth part - he would shave every day with pleasure.

Sherlock wetted a flannel and started washing him, carefully avoiding the plaster over the wound. “I love you, Mycie, with or without your fur. But if I had to decide, I'd say with the hair. But now I have both which is very nice.”

“Do you think Tony has a hairy body?” He couldn't help it. He was still jealous.

“Mycie! I don't fancy him. I like him, yes, and of course he's handsome. But I don't want him because he's not you!” He bent forward and they kissed, for the first time since Mycroft had seen him that day. Sherlock seemed to realise that, too, and he put the flannel on the edge of the basin and slung his arms around his neck. “How can I not have kissed you before?” he mumbled and then their lips met, and Mycroft melted away, giving into having his mouth invaded by Sherlock's eager tongue. Their kissing was sweet and lovely but Sherlock pulled back a little when he reacted to it. “Sorry. What can I say, you are so sexy and my poor dick doesn't understand that he's not allowed to play with yours all at once.”

Mycroft laughed. “Tell him that very soon he can do that again. Sherlock, about Tony...”

“Alright, yes, I think he does have a hairy body. He's dark-haired and Brazilian, the chances are good. But neither of us will ever see him naked so what?!”

Mycroft was pretty sure that Sherlock knew that he wasn't talking about chest hair. “What did you not tell me?” He saw Sherlock tense and knew that there indeed was something. “You whispered with him in the beginning, and I just wondered if it was about anything that I should know.”

Sherlock sighed. “I didn't want to tell you today. I don't want to threaten your heart again.”

Mycroft froze. “Sherlock, my heart is okay. It's just one arteria that was almost closed, and the stent and the medication will make sure that it doesn't close so soon again. Anyway, I will not get a heart attack. Well, it might depend on what you have to tell me.”

“If you think now that I did anything with him, no, I didn't! And I won't!”

“But you were shocked to see him.”

“Yes, of course. I didn't tell him where you live, and I was afraid he'd mention...”

“Mention what, Sherlock?”

“That he gave me money for freeing his daughter!”

Mycroft was puzzled. “Well, why not? You did solve a case for him, a very important one actually. I know that not all of your clients pay you, but the wealthy ones use to. So what's the big deal?”

“Nobody ever paid me ten million pounds.” Sherlock voice was hardly audible.

Mycroft shook his head. “Can you say that again? You were speaking so quiet that I understood...”

“...ten million British pounds.” This time he had said it loud and clear.

He was speechless. Their gazes met, and then Sherlock continued washing him, paying attention to his back this time. “Why so much?” Mycroft asked, still struggling with believing it. Now he would have liked to sit down.

“He didn’t tell me. He just sent me an email with the account details.”

“What does he want for that huge amount of money?” Mycroft insisted.

Sherlock stopped cleaning him. “You know what he wanted, having his daughter back. He's no threat, Mycie, in no way, I wish you would believe that. And perhaps the question is not what he wants but how much money he has. I told you how he earned it. Maybe ten million are just nothing to him.”

“My God.” Mycroft's head was spinning. Not only did Tony pay Sherlock an obscene sum of money, it was coming from selling drugs. He decided that his back was clean enough now and sat down on the chair.

“That was long ago, Mycie.” Sherlock had read his thoughts again. “And wouldn’t it be a little ridiculous if I was upset about the source of the money? And of course you have always been the decent one of us, but you did accept me when I was still using.”

That was true. He didn't like it, but it was true. “You are rich, Sherlock, really rich.” It was overwhelming. And scary.

“No, Mycie.  _ We _ are rich. So rich that we…” He broke off and bit his lip, and then he got on his knees and started to wash his legs.

Mycroft didn't have to ask what he meant. But it was not an option. At least not for him. “You can stop solving cases now.” He realised that it would cause suspicion. “Let's say you can almost stop doing it completely. You can pick out the interesting ones.”

“Yes, it means some kind of freedom,” Sherlock said. “Okay, do you want to take care of the most sensitive parts yourself or shall I do it?” He was changing the subject and Mycroft wasn't unhappy about it.

“If you don't mind, please do it.”

“Mind? Yeah right. I just don't want to cause you any unwelcome feelings.”

Mycroft smiled. “I know. Just go ahead. We will have to ignore it for now if anything happens. You know, they are never unwelcome, just a little inconvenient right now.”

Of course it did happen. He got hard, not as much as usual, but still his dick paid attention to getting touched by this divine man. It was even harder to not act on it, to feel the friction of the flannel and at times Sherlock's hand on his dick and his balls, and not ask him to go down on his knees. Of course Sherlock would have done it at once but he didn't want to risk anything. And he didn't want to fail.

Sherlock distracted him with the suggestion to go to John's and Kelly's engagement party on Saturday. “We wouldn't have to stay long. Just drop by there and drink something, and then we could leave after an hour or so, or sooner if you didn't feel comfortable.”

Mycroft grimaced. It was pretty much the last thing on earth he was in the mood for, and he doubted that this would change until the weekend.

“Anthea will come, too,” Sherlock lured him. “You could have a chat about work with her.”

“I can call her anytime to do that, Sherlock, and besides, I will probably go to work again on Friday, at least for some hours,” he said, but then he smiled. “Of course we'll show up there if you like. I think it's good for you, too. Perhaps you can renew your friendship with John.”

“That's not going to happen, Mycie. We are leading completely opposite lives now, and I could never be honest with him about how much mine has changed. But Martha would be very disappointed if we didn’t show up and I guess we'll just have to.”

“We are really a social couple, aren't we?” Mycroft asked with a smile, and Sherlock smiled back.

“Who needs other people when you are in love with the most wonderful man on earth?”

“Exactly!” Mycroft stood up and Sherlock started drying him off. He was still aroused a bit but he knew it wouldn't make any sense to start anything. He needed rest to be the man Sherlock was used to, and to do his job again, in more than one way.

They walked upstairs, followed by Lucky, and soon after all three of them were settled in the bed and Mycroft put his head on Sherlock's broad chest and closed his eyes, feeling safe and as happy as he could get in this situation. It didn't take him long to fall asleep.

*****

When Mycroft woke up, he was still in Sherlock's arms.

“How are you, darling?” the detective asked quietly.

“Good, really. But still pretty flat, I have to admit.”

“Of course you are. Listen, I'll have to call John now to tell him that we'll drop by only for a while and well, why we won't stay there for long, and then Lucky needs to get out. Are you okay with being by yourself for a while?”

“Oh honey, yes, I am.” He was touched by Sherlock's concern.

Sherlock handed him a glass of water. “You need to drink something, dear. Alright, into battle…”

Mycroft drank his water and then leaned back into the pillow. Sherlock called John from the bedroom, and he smiled about the heated discussion. John didn't seem to have a problem with them not staying for long, but he obviously had one with Sherlock only telling him now what had happened the day before. He wondered if John would ever let go of Sherlock. Did he really still want him as a friend? Or was he just feeling obliged to do it? In any way he would not succeed. Sherlock didn't need him anymore. Not only because of their relationship, but also because of Oscar. The hacker had proven to be a lot better friend than the doctor had been for years now. He was friendly and helpful, extremely smart and ready to go into the fire for Sherlock. Mycroft had to admit that he had been a tad jealous of him, but now he was very grateful that Sherlock had him. If anything happened to Mycroft, Oscar might be able to keep him from going down. He shushed these cheerful thought away and just enjoyed watching Sherlock running around with rotating eyes until he ended the call.

“Dear God… He has a dozen tips for you, and he was so pissed off that I didn't call him right away. I did plan to but somehow I forgot it. Alright, I will go for a walk with Lucky, but I won't be away for long.”

“Don't hurry, honey, I won't run away.” He tickled the dog that was lying next to him.

Sherlock grinned and rested his hands on the bed to kiss him tenderly. “You better don't. I love you, you know?”

“I do. Although now you could pay any man on earth to be with you.” It was only partly a joke.

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “Don't even dare think that. You are the only man who deserves to be my man. And you can choose if that’s good or bad…”

He chuckled. “So I deserve to be with a moody, annoying, arrogant, cold, dangerous man who is also the smartest, prettiest, finest, most desirable and most irresistible man on earth?”

“I choose to overhear the first part of your sentence and say  _ yes _ to the second one.” Sherlock gently stroked his face. “I don't want anyone but you. Get used to it. You should be by now!”

“I should be. But sometimes it's hard to believe that someone who could have just anybody wants to be with old, tired me.” He realised that this had come out very honestly. And frankly, it was honest. Sherlock could have anybody he wanted. Probably even the perfect Tony.

“Oh Mycie, what the hell am I supposed to do with you?”

“Love me, I guess?”

“I do.” Sherlock kissed him again. “And I hate that I can't really show you at the moment. But very soon I will, and your heart shall better be really healthy for that. Let me go now before Lucky pees on the bed.”

“Speaking of which…”

“Mycroft! Oh, did you mean you  _ need _ to have a pee? Or that you  _ want  _ to do that…?”

“Both actually. But don't worry, I'll get to the loo without help. And we should postpone the  _ want _ -part for a few days.”

After more kissing, Sherlock helped him out of the bed against his protests, and then he went to the bathroom and Sherlock left with the dog. When he returned to the bed, he grabbed a book and just made himself comfortable.

*****

They spent a very cosy afternoon and enjoyed the dinner that Sherlock had prepared. Before going to sleep, they watched a DVD together, a funny action movie that had more plot holes than crashed cars in it, and they got into a little contest about who was finding more movie mistakes. Feeling relaxed and better than for days actually, Mycroft settled next to Sherlock in bed after the film was finished, letting his hand wander over his body. His chest was naked, but he was wearing pyjama pants for a change. Probably because he didn't want to seduce his sick man, but of course that didn't work.

“Don't start anything you can't finish, Mycie,” Sherlock mumbled and gently touched the back of his head.

“You could finish it,” Mycroft suggested.

“You're sure? You won't feel bad because you can't come?”

He smiled. “No, honey, and it will give my fantasy something to drool over until we can properly have sex again.”

“Alright then.” Sherlock slipped out of the trousers, exposing his pink, hard member. The tip was glistening tastily, and when Sherlock saw him licking his lips, he collected a drop of his pre-cum and smeared it over Mycroft's bottom lip.

He licked it up at once. “Damn. I didn't think I would get a dessert today.”

“But you've been a good boy today, a little snappish to the big, rich man first, but then pretty nice. Nice men get rewarded.” Mycroft wished he hadn't mentioned the Brazilian while he was stroking his dick, and Sherlock must have realised his faux-pas. “Sorry. Don't think now that I fantasize about him while I'm doing that! All I want is right next to me!”

“I just find that so hard to believe,” Mycroft said quietly. “He's just everything you could wish for.”

“Does it tell you anything when I mention the number twenty? As in twenty years, which is how long I've been longing for you? And you really think I would throw that away for Mr Perfect?”

“The tall, dark and handsome man who made you rich,” Mycroft said and Sherlock winced.

“Damn, yes! I totally forgot about that!” He let go of his dick and Mycroft wished he had not mentioned the fortune teller.

“Could you please go on with the show?” he begged, and Sherlock continued beating off.

“Shit, everything she told me has come true! Except for the death-part… Thank God.”

Mycroft refrained from saying that they shouldn't celebrate too soon. Of course he didn't believe in prophecies. And still… And in the end, she had told Sherlock that his love would be stronger than death, whatever that was supposed to mean.

Sherlock stopped talking now, his cheeks were flushed and his movements were growing faster. He was on the edge already, and after several loud moans he came with a low growl all over his stomach. Panting and shivering he said: “Damn, I soiled myself.” He caught some of the thick seed with his hand and licked it off.

Mycroft closed his eyes and swallowed hard. His dick was pretty plump and his groin was unpleasantly throbbing. This was torture. But Sherlock had asked him for permission, hadn't he?

“You want some, too?” Sherlock teased him. Besides his playful tone, the concern in his eyes was evident. Of course he knew that Mycroft's body reactions were making him feel uncomfortable. But he also knew that Mycroft had needed the proof of being desired.

“Yes, more dessert, please.” And Sherlock generously shared with him, and he licked every bit he offered him from his hand.

“That was delicious,” he said with a low voice. “God, I can't wait to make love to you again.” His dick was already eager to do it, but he knew that he wouldn't be able to act on it. He wondered what Dr Kellerman would say if he could see him now. Well, besides the fact that the man who was arousing him was his brother…

“Neither can I,” Sherlock assured him. “But can you imagine how explosive it will be after days of not doing it? You will drown me with your cum.”

“Oh, shit, Sherlock.”

“I'm sorry. Come here.”

And Mycroft rested his head again on his chest and enjoyed being embraced and caressed. His dick was being pressed against Sherlock's thigh, and it felt sweet and bitter at the same time. His erection finally faded when the sleep came to him, and he thought how right Sherlock had been before he dozed off. He would drown him with streams of cum.  _ Soon… Oh, very soon… _


	30. Chapter 30

“Good morning, sleepy head!”

“Morning, Sherlock.” Mycroft blinked and carefully stretched his back. “How late is it?”

“Almost nine.” Sherlock bent over to him and kissed him.

The kiss lasted long, and Mycroft felt his dick swell again already. “What a nice way to wake up,” he fondly said. “I could get used to wake up so late and like that.”

“Well,” Sherlock said. _You_ _could have that every day_ lingered in the air. But Sherlock didn't speak it out. “Do you want to have breakfast here or come down with me?”

“Come down of course. But before, I'll have a shower. I may take off the plaster today.” He couldn't wait to shower and wash his hair. And he had not shaven the evening before.

“I'll come with you and take care of your back.”

“But then you'll have to shower again!” Sherlock smelt like a flower bed and was clean shaven already.

“You can never be too rich or too clean,” Sherlock mouthed, and Mycroft smiled.

“I think this phrase was slightly different.”

“Don't care, it fits. Come up now, old man, I'm starving.”

Mycroft laughed and shook his head. “Unbelievable. Getting insulted so early in the morning. You'll have to make up for that.”

“Oh I will. Tomorrow?” His eyes were sparkling, but they were also full of desire.

Mycroft would have loved to just pin him on the mattress and show him how much he wanted him. But it wouldn't have been wise. “Yes, tomorrow.” He would be seeing his doctor in the morning and have a check-up, and then he would decide if he felt good enough to go to work on Friday for a few hours, and in the evening they would make love, carefully, slowly and tenderly. He really couldn't wait…

He did enjoy their shower very much, closing his eyes while Sherlock's huge hands were rubbing divinely-smelling body wash on his back, and feeling him licking his neck while he was scrubbing his sides. Before the shower, Sherlock had carefully removed the plaster; the wound was tiny but it was surrounded by a black bruise and still swollen. Sherlock avoided the spot when he was washing him. He pressed kisses on his throat and his chest and then got down on his knees and foamed up Mycroft's dick. Of course he could have showered on his own, but it felt so good to be in Sherlock's capable hands. His dick jumped to attention, and Sherlock pressed a kiss on the tip. “Tomorrow, little man,” he mumbled and started washing his balls.

“Little man?” Mycroft raised his eyebrows.

Sherlock grabbed his dick again. It was thick and swollen and it felt like torture to not being able to have it buried in Sherlock's hot arse.

“Sorry. It's a big, juicy, tasty, amazing, fat dick!” He winked and stroked both of Mycroft's thighs. “You know, I would have it in my throat at once if you gave me permission.” His own dick was standing straight up but he had not made an attempt to touch it.

“I know, and I would love you to do it. But it doesn't feel quite right now.” He wanted to see his doctor before. He didn’t want to risk anything, no matter how hard it was, literally…

Sherlock was up in a second. “I'm sorry, Mycie. I don't want to rack you.” He captured his mouth in a kiss.

Mycroft let his hands slide over Sherlock's silky sides. “Never say sorry for wanting me. It makes me feel great that you do. And that I don't dare come doesn't mean you'll have to suffer.” He reached out and grabbed Sherlock's rock hard penis, deftly stroking it with circling movements. Sherlock put his head on his Mycroft's shoulder and started to moan, and it was so sexy that Mycroft closed his eyes in pleasure. He knew that he had to finish him off fast before he forgot all care and just went at it. It didn't take long until Sherlock's moans got louder and he hissed: “Oh, Mycie!” and then hot fountains of cum splashed against Mycroft's belly. He held Sherlock close with his left arm while he was milking the last shudders of his orgasm out of his dick with the right hand, and then he kissed Sherlock's temple. He grinned when Sherlock got all limb in his arm and his stomach growled loudly.

“Alright, baby, I guess we shall have another shower now and then finally eat something.”

“Love you,” Sherlock mumbled in his ear.

“Oh honey, I love you, too.” Then he put on the almost cold water and enjoyed having it run over his skin, cooling his desire, and a few minutes later, Sherlock dried him off, then himself, and they went downstairs in their bathrobes.

They spent the morning peacefully in the living room with reading the news and talk about anything but Mycroft's health or his job or Tony or the money. Neither of them had bothered to take their phones with them, and Mycroft had to admit that it was nice to not be reachable for a change. Of course, if the doctor told him that he could go back to work, he would call Anthea again to prepare for getting back into the flow. They had spoken with each other very briefly the afternoon before, when she had called to check how he was doing. But she had just said that everything went on in the usual patterns. The traitor seemed to have disappeared once more. But he knew that it was only a question of time before he'd show up again, and he hoped that he would feel well enough to concentrate on finding him until then.

“Do you mind if I took Lucky out for a jog now?” Sherlock asked him. “I'll take care of lunch as soon as I come back.”

“Of course you can do that, Sherlock. It must be hard for you to sit around all day.”

“It's a lot harder to not be all over you all day,” Sherlock murmured, and he smiled.

“So you want to power yourself out so you won't rape me?”

“Exactly. I won't be long.” They kissed, and then Mycroft was alone. He leaned back in his arm chair and realised that he was getting tired again. He knew this wasn't only because of the attack. He had been completely exhausted long before, and it was taking its toll now. He would just take another little nap so he would be awake when Sherlock came back.

When the doorbell rang, he didn't know where he was at first and he didn't have any idea how long he'd been sleeping. He got up and walked to the door. Had Sherlock forgotten to take his keys with him? Was it Anthea or Mrs Hudson?

When he had opened the door, he froze. “Hello Miss Hooper.”

“Oh, Mr Holmes, I'm so sorry, I woke you up, didn't I? I just wanted to talk to Sherlock for a moment. Greg gave me your address. I couldn't reach Sherlock over the phone. Oh, I'm talking too much.”

Mycroft smiled, but he was nervous. What did she want? And when would Sherlock come back? “Come in, please. Is there anything I can do for you?”

They went into the living room, and he asked her to take a seat. “I just wanted to ask Sherlock about a present for John and his fiancée. I know they don't want anything, but I thought it would be nice to get them something nevertheless. I'd thought of concert tickets for _The_ _Disciples_ , I know John likes them.”

“I'm sure that Sherlock is okay with that.” _And now go before he comes back_ …

“Are you alright? I mean, I know that you received a stent on Monday. You look very pale. Did you check on your blood pressure today?”

“Well, I do have a blood pressure meter upstairs. I will control it later.”

“Oh, I could do that! Where is it?”

 _In our bedroom. Where Sherlock's clothes are lying around everywhere. You will go there only over my dead body…_ “Don't worry, Miss Hooper, I'm fine. I guess I'm pale because I didn't really go out for days now. I will get some fresh air this afternoon.”

“That's good. But you should drink something at least. Do you have mineral water here?”

No, he didn't. He had emptied the bottle before he had fallen asleep and hadn't replaced it. “In the kitchen. I will…”

“No please, I will get some for you. Stay seated. I'll be back in a minute!”

Mycroft sighed and watched her go. This woman was a nervous wreck. He would praise her away as soon as she was back.

He winced when his gaze moved towards the window, suddenly realising that it had grown dark all at once. Rain was pouring down. Shit! Sherlock and Lucky were still outside but they wouldn't be for much longer in this weather. And then he heard the front door open up, and seconds after, Sherlock's deep voice echoed through the hall. “Shit, Lucky! Wait until I've dried you up! You'll make everything dirty! Daddy will kill you!”

*****

Sherlock slipped out of his sneakers while he was already pulling off his soaking wet shirt, and then he jogged through the hall to catch the equally wet dog that was running to the kitchen. The cloudburst had surprised them only a minute before they had reached Mycroft's house, and it had been enough to drench them both.

He was rubbing his sopping curls when he stalked into the kitchen, the shirt in his hand. “Shit, Mycie, sorry, he just ran away…” He broke off when he saw that Lucky was touched by tender hands, but they didn't belong to Mycroft.

“Oh, hi Sherlock, I just wanted…” Molly was kneeling next to Lucky, and she was looking up to him. And then her gaze moved southwards, over his naked chest and then it stopped and her big eyes narrowed in confusion. And Sherlock knew that it wasn't the sight of his big muscles or his nipples that amazed her; her eyes were glued to a certain, four-by-four centimetres big part on his stomach that had a completely different colour than the rest of his upper body. He could feel his cheeks blush, and when her eyes finally widened in shock and she looked into his again, slightly shaking her head in disbelief, he knew that she understood.

“Molly…” he croaked, and then he heard the sound of steps behind him, and a towel was passed to him when he turned around. “Sorry,” he mouthed and took it and dried off his hair, not knowing what else to do or say instead. Mycroft looked at him with a rather resigned expression.

“Um, I should go now. Mr Holmes, here is your water.” Her hand was trembling so hard that the glass almost slipped out of it. “I tried to call you, Sherlock, but your phone was off. I just wanted to suggest a present for John and, I… oh God…”

It was time to get his senses together. “Molly, please. Come into the living room.” Sherlock knew that this was the one critical situation that had not happened before. Everybody who had found out about them, had been accepting, which was a miracle of its own. But this time it would be different, and if they couldn’t handle the situation, everything would blow up. And an ice-cold part of his brain wondered if anyone knew that she had come here…

“I should rather go.” But she didn’t move, and then Mycroft took the glass out of her hand before it could fall on the ground.

“Please, Miss Hooper. Come back in and sit down with us.” His voice was calm, but Sherlock knew that inside, he was panicking. And again it was Sherlock's fault. He loved his tattoo and he knew that Mycroft did, too, but it had been a stupid thing to do. He should have tattooed his _cock_ instead to be sure nobody would see it…

Molly finally nodded and moved, following Mycroft into the living room, and Sherlock filled another glass with water and handed it to her as soon as she had sat down. Perhaps scotch would have been a better choice…

He took a seat next to Mycroft on the couch, not so close that their legs were being pressed together, and for an awkward moment, nobody said a word. Molly's eyes were flickering between them and she was breathing hard. All at once she broke the silence. “You know, I just came to ask if you think that John might like concert tickets for a band, _The Discips_ , I mean _Disciples_. They are coming to a festival in two months, and… Oh God, it's because of him!”

“What?” Sherlock was confused. He knew that he had to be in control of this conversation, but his brain was blank.

“Oh God, I'm not wrong, am I? This… this tattoo - it's two initials, right?”

“Yes.” He wished that he had thought of a different explanation; he remembered his conversation with Mycroft about it all too well. Oh, but he had been so sure that nobody would see it… And if he hadn't run around the house bare-chested, she wouldn't have… “The _S_ is for Sherlock, and the _M_ is for Mycroft.” She knew it already, so lying to her, even if he had been able to think of another explanation, wouldn't have made any sense, he just realised. She had seen him wearing Mycroft's ring, he was living with him here - who else could it have been?

“You turned to your own brother because you couldn't have John?”

Finally he understood. “No, Molly. I have never loved John.”

“But… He thinks that! Everybody thinks that!”

“It was always Mycroft. There has never been anyone else in my life. But we only got together about four months ago. And John, well, something happened that made it necessary to make him believe that I was in love with him. It was the only way out.”

“Four months. After you went there?” It was clear what she was referring to.

“Yes, the day after Sherrinford.”

“But…” She desperately shook her head. “I can't believe how this happened. I mean, no, you don't owe me any justification. But… it's so…”

“So what, Molly? Disgusting? Nasty? Wrong? No, it's not. We love each other, and we have for almost half of my life, even though we didn't know that we shared these feelings. But now we do, and nothing and no-one will bring us apart.” He turned to Mycroft, who had still not said a word. But Sherlock understood it. Molly was in love with him, and he had to convince her to keep their secret. Their eyes met and Mycroft smiled. Sherlock smiled back and wanted to kiss him so badly now.

But then Molly spoke again. “No, I didn't want to say any of these words. I can't think of the right word. Oh God, it's so embarrassing.” All at once she sobbed and started to cry; she buried her face in her hands and her shoulders were shaking, and she made very strange noises, and Sherlock realised that she was crying and laughing at the same time.

“Embarrassing?” he repeated. “Well, that's a strange word to describe it.”

“No, _I'm_ embarrassing,” she blurted. “Because for a moment, just a part of a second, I…” She couldn't speak anymore and shook her head.

“You thought that the _M_ was for Molly,” Mycroft broke his silence, and Sherlock cringed. _Really, how stupid was that?!_

“Yes! And it says so much that you got that, but he didn't!” Again she shook her head vehemently. “I've been so silly all this time. Oh I wished you had told me.”

“You said that already before - twice I think - but well, I could have told you that I'm gay, but I could not tell you that I loved my brother. And why would I, nothing ever happened between us before Sherrinford, and I had never expected that to change.”

“But now you are… Oh sorry, how can I ask you that…”

“If you mean if we are a couple in every sense of the word, yes, we are.”

Sherlock stood up and went to her, grabbing her shoulders. “Molly, you said you want to be my friend again. You said that if I needed anything, you'd be there for me. Is that still true?”

She looked at him with wide eyes and after a second she nodded. “Yes, of course it is.”

He couldn't see Mycroft in this moment, but he knew that he was relaxing after hearing these words. “Then just promise us that you won't tell anyone. You are not the only one who knows it, but John and Lestrade don't, and they may never know it. Nobody else may know it. We'd get in big trouble.”

“Of course not, I won't say a word to anyone. But don't you think John would understand? He's your best friend!”

Sherlock let her go and sighed. “I don't know. And we can't risk that. He doesn't really like Mycie, and he might think that he took advantage of me. Which he didn't! Never!”

“No, I wouldn't have believed that anyway. I suppose I shouldn't come to the party so I don't give it away by accident. It might… take me a while to behave as if nothing had happened.”

“Please come, Miss Hooper,” Mycroft said. “It might cause suspicion if you all at once didn’t show up. And we won't be there for long anyway. I'm not feeling like partying.”

“I'm sure that you don't. So that's why you didn't want me to get the blood pressure meter. It's in your bedroom I suppose.”

Sherlock blushed, and he saw Mycroft smile. “Yes, that's why. But I do feel better now that I know that we can count on your discretion. Sherlock could always count on you, but we couldn't be sure that this includes this… unusual situation.”

Molly shook her head. Her cheeks were dry now, and she seemed to take it a lot better than Sherlock had expected. “You know,” she smiled wryly, “actually it's a relief. I always knew that I couldn't have you, but I always thought that it's because I'm too dumb for you and too ugly, which I of course am, but now I know that nobody could have you, except for… your brother. I told you that I'm over you, and I was, but maybe not a hundred percent. But now I am. It's like I'm suddenly really free. I feel good!”

Sherlock grinned and shook his head, too, and then he said: “You are neither dumb nor ugly, Molly, and every normal man should be happy to be with you. I am just not that normal man.”

“No, you are certainly not. Well, regarding the tickets…”

“It's a good idea, buy them, we will give you the money,” Sherlock said.

“Oh no, it will be a gift from all of us then, Greg, Mrs Hudson, myself and you two.” She got up. “I'd better go now. But before… could you just… no, sorry…” She blushed and grabbed her handbag. Mycroft stood up from the couch.

“What shall I do?” Sherlock asked. And then he winced when Mycroft pulled him in for a kiss. He stiffened for a second, but then he understood it as well. Molly needed to see it, have the proof, to be finally through with longing for him. The kiss was chaste but sweet, and he could have gone on with it forever, but Mycroft broke it all too soon and winked at him.

“I guess that's enough for now.”

Molly's blush had turned into fire, but she smiled. It was a sad smile but happy at the same time. “Yes, I think that was what I needed.”

Both men brought her to the door and bade her goodbye. Then Mycroft slung an arm around his neck. “What shall I do with you, Sherlock? How many more times will this happen? Perhaps _we_ should do an engagement party, inviting everybody we know, including the PM, Lady Smallwood - even our parents and Auntie Alaranda and Uncle Tormus maybe - and then kiss in front of everybody, or perhaps you could give me a blow job so it's really clear.” He sounded a tiny bit exasperated despite the sparkles in his blue eyes.

“I know, I'm such an idiot. First my stupid slippery in front of Martha, Oscar was not my fault though, then Tony, and that was definitely my fault.”

“Even though it was _my_ message he saw,” Mycroft admitted.

“But you didn’t place it on the table in Baker Street.”

“True. Your fault,” Mycroft said with a nod.

“Then Anthea and now Molly. And you even asked me if I had a back-up story in case somebody saw the tattoo. I should have told her it meant Mary Stewart or something, but… What?”

Mycroft had grabbed his shoulder harder, narrowing his eyes. “ _Anthea_?! What do you mean, Anthea?!”

“Oh, _shit_!”

*****

“And please immediately tell me if you need to go back or if you want to sit down. Promise me?”

Mycroft smiled. “Yes, I do. Don't worry. It's not as if we had to walk five kilometres to get there.”

Sherlock had been happy to hear that Mycroft wanted to go outside for the first time since Sunday. He was looking so pale and he definitely needed some fresh air, and the rain had stopped after lunchtime. They would probably not be able to sit on their bench as it had to be soaking wet, but the little walk to the park would definitely be good for Mycroft.

Sherlock had successfully explained to him that Anthea had figured it out because his behaviour had changed and because of the party in Baker Street. He couldn't blame it on Sherlock alone this time. And of course they could count on Anthea as well. Instead of exploding, Mycroft had burst out into almost hysterical laughter in the end, and Sherlock had tried to calm him down so his heart would not be damaged by it.

To his relief, Mycroft had finally found back his self-control and had kissed Sherlock instead of kicking his arse. A little later he had eaten lunch with good appetite. Since he was about to call Anthea the next day anyway, he had refrained from doing it right away. He hadn't even admonished Sherlock because he had not told him right away, breaking his promise once more. But he had apparently understood that Sherlock had wanted to wait until he was feeling better.

They walked very slowly, and Sherlock had Lucky on the leash. Every ten steps he glanced over to Mycroft to make sure that he was okay, and each time Lucky looked at his daddy as well.

“Not an invalid,” Mycroft finally said, but he sounded rather touched than annoyed.

“Of course you are not. Just want to make sure that it's not too much for you.”

“Hey, boys!” Both of them turned around and welcomed Oscar and his dogs. Lucky got almost crazy and yapped, sniffing at his two friends frantically.

“How are you, Mycroft?”

“Good, thank you. It's getting better every day. Tomorrow I will see my usual doctor and I'll probably go to work again on Friday. Only for a short time,” he hurried to add after a glance at Sherlock's face.

“As if they'd let you go early once you're there,” he mumbled.

“I won't ask for permission, don't worry.”

But of course Sherlock did. Once Mycroft would be at work again, he would be caught in the treadmill, and would work in his usual merciless pace without paying attention to the silent screams of his body.

Sherlock didn't talk much until they had reached the park, and then he made sure that Mycroft didn't look as if he'd drop dead the next minute, and started throwing the ball for the dogs.

Always thinking practically, Oscar had brought a big plastic bag to sit down on, and he offered it to Mycroft when standing around became a bit uncomfortable for him. Sherlock took a seat next to him, not giving a damn about getting a wet arse, and he pressed Mycroft's hand. Mycroft smiled at him, and he would have died for kissing him.

“Soon, Sherlock. When we get home, we will settle on the couch and make out. Oh, sorry, Oscar.”

The hacker grinned. “I don't mind, boys. I wouldn’t mind making out as well. With a woman, preferably,” he hastily added.

“We could ask Martha if she also knows one for him,” Sherlock suggested. He told Oscar about Kelly and John and how his old landlady had brought them together.

“Oh, no, please don't, Sherlock. I'm not looking for baggage. I'm so not good at this relationship crap. Sorry, but it's true for me. It's great how you are making it work - under such difficult conditions no less - but I'm not meant for that. I’d just like to have a little fun, that’s all. But enough of that, Mycroft - did Sherlock tell you about the program I'm working on for the Chinese?”

“Yes, he did. Is it ready?”

“I finished programming it last night. So if you have a suspect, I can find out any payment that he had received, no matter how many ways it took to get to him.”

“That's awesome!” Mycroft sounded excited, and Sherlock didn’t like it. He should take care of getting healthy, not burning for his fucking job again…

Mycroft looked at him, his eyes asking for his understanding, and Sherlock shrugged. “Yes, it's good news. But remember you promised to take it easy at first.”

“I will. But if we finally can narrow it down to a small group of people, we have a real chance. And then this nightmare will be over.”

“Until the next one,” Sherlock grumbled.

“Sherlock! You know how important my job is to me!”

“Yes, and see what it did to you!”

“Boys, please. No public arguments,” Oscar said. “Or better, no arguments at all. Don't glare at me now! I understand you both, and you should do that, too. I know it's none of my business but I like you. Mycroft - you need rest and shouldn't be thinking of work now, and I'm sorry that I brought that up! I just did to cheer you up actually. And Sherlock - he’s a very important man who is devoted to his profession. But you are as important to him!”

“Much more,” Mycroft said, and he sounded ashamed. “I'm sorry, Sherlock. You are right. I have to look after myself, and of course there will be more challenges in future. But I promise I will not work myself into the ground anymore.”

“I'm sorry, too. I only want your best but I guess I sounded like a pouting child.”

“You have nothing to be sorry for, Sherlock. Thank you, Oscar, for throwing yourself in between this. I think we should go home now, Sherlock. I would like to be more comfortable.”

“Does that mean you don't want to make out anymore?”

“Not in the least. It was the whole sense of being comfortable.”

“Oh, in this case! Oscar, have a good day, I'll be in touch!”

“I should hope so. Get well soon, Mycroft. And no arguments!”

“Promised! And I hope that you'll find someone to have fun with very soon.”

“Ah, don't worry about me. I still have the internet and my right hand.”

Grinning, Sherlock and Mycroft started their way home. Lucky followed them after a sharp whistle from Sherlock. He was always reluctant to part from his two big friends.

They walked for a while without talking.

“You know that I love you, Sherlock, don't you?” Mycroft finally broke the silence.

“Yes, of course. And I love you. It's just crazy sometimes. You remember the start of our relationship?”

Mycroft smiled. “You really think I could have forgotten a second of it?”

“No, of course not. There were two issues, right from the start, that can be summed up very easily: I thought your job would take you away from me, that you'd get so tied up that I would hardly see you anymore and eventually you would lose interest.”

“And I thought I was not attractive enough for you and that you would find someone more handsome and hot and leave me for him.”

“So much has happened in between, we grew together so much, and we still have the same fears, both of us.”

They had reached the street Mycroft lived in. “What can we do about it, Sherlock?”

“I don't know,” he admitted. “I'd say, as soon as you are doing fine again, have more sex.”

Mycroft laughed. “That's indeed a tempting cure. We should give it a try.”  All at once he stopped. “We have another visitor.”

Indeed, a black limousine was parked before the house again. And it was certainly not Tony this time. They didn’t have to wait long for the answer. The driver's door opened, and a young man with a briefcase left the car. Sherlock had never seen him before but he just knew who he was.

“Mr Holmes, I'm glad to see you in good health again.”

Mycroft sighed. “Mr Scott. How nice of you to drop by to check how I'm doing.”

“It's my pleasure. And the Prime Minister wants to know when you are going to show up at work again. He asked me to bring you some urgent files to have a look at them.”

Sherlock could feel his hands balling into fists by themselves. “He won't do any work now, Mr Scott! He is sick and excused from the office. We just walked for a couple of minutes because he needed some fresh air. Now go back in the car and tell the PM that he can…”

“Sherlock, please,” Mycroft interrupted him quietly. “But my brother is right. I'm not available for work matters until earliest Friday. You were there, you saw what happened.”

“I heard that you just overreacted and turned a panic attack into a heart attack,” the man said with a nasty grin. “I don't think…”

He didn't get any further. Sherlock grabbed his jacket and smashed him against the car, and then he pressed his right forearm on the man's throat and leaned against him with his full weight. “Get in. Now. Or I guarantee you that you will leave without your ugly, empty head!” He slightly decreased the pressure when the man's face turned dark red. Killing him would just cause unnecessary hassle.

“This is unacceptable!” the PA burbled. “The Prime Minister will be told about it!”

“Your fucking Prime Minister can go to hell! He should have shown up here himself to apologise to my brother! Instead of sending a dumb dwarf to get on his nerves. Now take your files and leave before I shove them up your arse!” He let the smaller man go and watched him climb into the limousine hastily. The car started at once and Sherlock turned to Mycroft. “That's unbelievable.” He saw Mycroft staring at him with an inexplicable look. “I'm sorry, I know I should have controlled myself but really, he…”

“Come inside, now.”

And now Sherlock could identify his expression. He looked hungry. “Mycie, you know we can't do anything. We can cuddle of course but we can't do what you have in mind now.”

“There's nothing wrong with my mouth, Sherlock. You will sit down on the couch and I'll get my teeth into you.”

Sherlock unlocked the door, feeling more than a bit excited. “I hope not literally.” He saw Lucky run into the house and followed him, holding the door open for Mycroft.

“Can't promise that.”

“Okay, but we'll go upstairs instead and you will lie down and I'll feed you my cock.” No reason to not be the reasonable one for a change.

“Agreed. I love you, Sherlock.” And then Sherlock was all over him, kissing the living hell out of him. He could feel him get hard against his groin, and he wondered how much longer his lover would be able to control himself. And he almost came into his pants by thinking what he would do for him in probably less than three minutes. “Let's go, Mycie. My cock wants to be in a wet, hot cave.”

“It'll go in there so deep that it gets lost.”

They started going up the stairs. “Do you think I may fuck you tomorrow when the doctor says that everything looks good? Like I described to you?”

“Oh yes, Sherlock. We'll find another deep, dark, hot and much tighter cave for your tasty dick.”

Sherlock was already undressing before he opened the bedroom door. He knew that he wouldn't demand too much from Mycroft now. He would shoot into his mouth within a minute or two. And if he went on talking like that, his dick wouldn't even reach this promised cave in time.


	31. Chapter 31

Sherlock was rambling around the house like a caged panther, eagerly waiting to hear from his lover.

Mycroft had gone to the doctor alone, carefully explaining to Sherlock that it would look kind of odd if his brother accompanied him. He had called for a driver who would wait for him and bring him back at once. Sherlock had agreed, and Mycroft had promised to text him as soon as he'd get out of the doctor's surgery to let him know what he'd been told.

Sherlock had hopped under the shower as soon as Mycroft was out of the house, his face was shaven so smooth that it almost felt like the skin of his cock, and he was wearing a black t-shirt and training pants, two things to slip out of very quickly, and Mycroft had dressed up equally before leaving. There was not a second of time to waste if the doctor would tell him that it was okay to have sex again. Of course Sherlock knew that they would have to begin rather slowly, and that it was not about his satisfaction; Mycroft had taken care of him well during the last two days. Sherlock just wanted to make him feel good again, wanted to not excite him just to let him suffer from an unfulfilled need like it had been the last two days, even though he had never intended to let that happen. Sherlock wanted to spoil him, caress him, give him the love and release he needed.

He had taken Lucky for a walk around the block so he wouldn't have to get out so soon again. They were back for ten minutes when his phone buzzed in his pocket.

_ On my way home. Everything’s fine. Get undressed. MH _

Sherlock laughed out loud. He looked down at Lucky. “Daddy's coming home and we will have sex for the rest of the day. Please behave in the meantime, okay?”

“Woof!”

“I'll take you at your word!”

“Woof!!”

“Okay, I'll give you one.” Sherlock went into the kitchen and provided the dog with a big chew bone. That should keep him occupied while Sherlock would be occupied with a big chew bone of another kind. He didn’t undress though before Mycroft arrived. His man would be dressed, too, in the end, and Sherlock was sure that he could get rid of two pieces of clothing every bit as fast as Mycroft.

As soon as he heard the car in the driveway, he positioned himself in front of the door. Mycroft had not completely closed it behind him when he was already clinging to his neck.

Mycroft looked at him with playful disappointment. “What did I say? I said  _ get undressed _ ! Why can you never do what you are told?”

Sherlock looked him deep in the eyes. “Because you didn't come through the door naked either. And because I want to hear what the doctor said before I throw my naked body on you.”

That brought him a smile. “Alright, my concerned little lover boy. He said my heart is working well. And as long as I take my medicine, it should be fine.”

“And?”

Mycroft gave him a peck on the nose. “And I shouldn't smoke anymore.”

That would certainly not be a problem. Sherlock could not remember having seen Mycroft smoke since they'd gotten together. And he just realised that he had not done it, either. Apparently his new drug (Mycroft) had really overpowered any other.

A kiss was brushed on Sherlock's cheek. “I shouldn't drink too much.”

Well, Mycroft did have a scotch or two every other day. He might have to reconsider that.

A quick lick hit his bottom lip. “I should exercise when I feel fully recovered.”

Sherlock didn't see any problem there. He had a fucking treadmill in his office and a gym in his house. But perhaps he could join Sherlock and Lucky in their jogging rounds in future. That would be nice.

A proper kiss was pressed on his mouth. “And not too much stress.”

And there it was - the big problem. “Did you tell him what kind of job you have?”

“He knows that, Sherlock. He's been my doctor for about ten years. He said I should try to not do everything perfect, give only eighty percent and not a hundred anymore. Should make sure to get more downtime, that sort of thing.”

“And will you do that?”

Mycroft sighed. “Perhaps you'll have to remind me from time to time to follow that advice.”

“Will you not kick my arse anymore if I do?”

“Sherlock, I've never done that!”

“Not literally. But you didn't want to hear it, either.”

Mycroft pulled him closer and rubbed his cheek on Sherlock's. “I know. But it's not so easy.”

“Because the fucking PM will get at you even more than he already has?”

“No, Sherlock. He's not the problem.  _ I _ am the problem. I just can't slow down. Especially not now.”

“But you'll have to, Mycie. I don't want to lose you. I need you so much.”

“So do I, Sherlock. Let's go upstairs now.”

“So what did he say about having sex?”

“I can do that. But in a reasonable way. And don't say now that sex is never reasonable.”

“I wasn't about to do that. I may be a smartarse, but not when it comes to finally having sex with you without affecting your health. But I can't promise that I won't make you come so hard that the stent will fly out of your heart.”

Mycroft laughed. “That won't happen, don't worry. Let's just be tender at the start, not wild.”

Sherlock kissed him. “You'll just lie down, and I will make you feel great. You won't even have to move. Well, one part of you will move for sure.”

“It is already moving. Can't you feel it?”

Of course Sherlock felt it. Something big and hard had been pressing against his groin for minutes now. And a matching hardness was snuggling against Mycroft's thigh in return. He took Mycroft's hand, and they went upstairs to take care of the matter.

They shared another tender kiss, standing next to the bed. Then Sherlock helped his lover to get rid of his shirt and step out of his pants. In opposite to Sherlock, he had bothered putting on briefs, and his cock sprang free when Sherlock pulled them off his arse.

Sherlock urged him to lie down flat on his back and stuffed a pillow under his head, making sure that he was being as comfortable as possible. Within seconds, he was naked himself and kneeling between Mycroft's legs. The politician spread them a little wider so he had more space, and then Sherlock rested on his elbows on either side of his head and kissed him. He felt Mycroft's hands on his head and shoulder, caressing, stroking, his fingers drawing circles through his curls. He took his time, exploring Mycroft's mouth as if it was the first time, the first kiss. His tongue sneaked into every corner of his mouth, slid over his teeth, and met its counterpart for a playful, tender dance. Sherlock had lowered his body on Mycroft's, very carefully, not putting his full weight on him. His erection was nestling in the space between Mycroft's thigh and his balls, sliding slowly whenever he moved. His pre-cum provided enough wetness to have his dick slide smoothly, and so did Mycroft's against his stomach. He moaned into Mycroft's mouth when he felt his huge hands rubbing over his back, down to his bum, sliding into his arse-crack and finding his sensitive entrance.

“Not now, Mycie,” he whispered. “Not today.” He kissed him once more and then let his lips find their way to Mycroft's hard nipples, and he spent minutes with licking and sucking and kissing them, not biting, not teasing, just making sure that he was enjoying it, and Mycroft's moans and murmurs assured him that he was loving it, that he was forgetting everything around them, not wasting one thought on having to go to work the next day or this damn traitor or this arsehole of a PM or this malevolent moron of a PA.

His tongue licked a wide path down to his navel, the tip exploring it, and then he lapped over the sensitive spot between his hipbone and his belly. A little stubble had already grown, tickling Sherlock's tongue, and he loved the thought that the hair would be full and black soon again, but he would remember how soft and delicious and sweet the skin underneath was.

“Sherlock, please, suck me now, I need you, I need to come, to empty myself in your mouth, please.”

He winced at the need in Mycroft's voice; he had not planned to make him suffer and beg for release. He moved down further on the bed and didn't waste any more time with careful licks and breathing over the fully erect dick, instead he closed his lips around the thick, wet, soft head and moved his mouth down to the base, letting his right hand pull gently on the plump and hairy sack. Mycroft moaned in pleasure, and he pulled back and repeated his actions, and then again, and then Mycroft's body bucked up and he called Sherlock's name and seconds later, Sherlock had to swallow fast and hard to not have his mouth overflown by the streams of semen that were being pumped into it, accompanied by more muffled screams and moans.

“God, Sherlock, thank you, I love you,” Mycroft stammered while his cock was softening in Sherlock's mouth.

Sherlock worked it over again to get the last drop out of it, and then he let it slide out and smiled when he looked into Mycroft's half-closed eyes, and saw him smile, too.

“Oh no, don't want to sleep now,” Mycroft mumbled, and Sherlock moved up quickly to hold him.

“Do that, baby, just sleep, relax.  Don't worry about me, I love you.” He pulled his man close against his chest and very soon Mycroft was breathing calmly, and Sherlock felt his own heart almost being ripped apart by an overpowering feeling of love for him. He didn't care that his own cock was still hard as a stone, his need unfulfilled, the tight cave that was luring his hardness not open for him to enter. They would take care of that later. Mycroft was here, he was doing well, he was getting the rest he needed after being spoilt and caressed, and that was all that mattered.

*****

“Good morning, Anthea. Come into my office with me, please.”

“Of course, sir. Coffee?”

“No, thank you. I'll have tea later.”

“Sure.”

She followed him and closed his office door behind her. Mycroft took place in his chair, and she did the same in the visitor's chair in front of his desk.

It was eight o'clock - late for him to arrive - but it had been a tough task to get out of the bed early for the first time in an entire week. And Sherlock had not liked to see him go. He had not tried to hold him back or seduce him, but his worried looks had made clear how little he liked the thought that Mycroft would go into the office. But what should he do? Just stay in bed all day for the rest of his life, living on Sherlock's money? He was surprised enough that Sherlock didn’t miss the thrill of the chase at all as it seemed. But Mycroft had been spending so many years in his position, and he simply couldn't imagine just throwing everything away. But he was very aware that he did have to look after himself better so he would be able to spend many more years with the man he loved.

It was time to focus now. “Anything important I must know about at once?” he asked his PA. He had not called her the day before but had just texted her to let her know that he would be back for a couple of hours. He still felt a little exhausted and he could feel exactly where the stent was. His doctor had told him that this was not unusual; apparently it was something a lot of very sensitive people experienced. In any way he didn’t feel like working with full power right now, even if he hadn't known that it was unwise to do it.

“No, sir. The next mission, in the Ukraine, will only be on Tuesday. I have written reports so you will be kept up very quickly. There hasn't been any progress on finding the traitor.”

“Well, I didn't really expect that,” he said with a sigh. “Anthea, to something very different now…”

“Sherlock has told you,” she said and nodded. “I know I should have come to you first, but he actually deduced it from what I told him to comfort him. I don't think I'd have ever mentioned it if it hadn't been for that crisis. It's definitely none of my business.”

“Thank you for taking care of him, I absolutely appreciate it. And I equally appreciate your silence about this delicate matter.”

“You can be assured that my silence will be complete. But I hope that this was clear to you from the start.”

Mycroft smiled. “Of course. And I guess I should have known that you'd notice the change in my behaviour. I…”

The door to his office was opened after a single, sharp knock, and Mycroft and Anthea startled and then quietly sighed in synch when the Prime Minister stormed into the room. At least he was not bringing his PA with him.

“Good morning, Mr Holmes, great to see you back! Miss Hunter!”

“Good morning, sir,” Mycroft said, Anthea mumbled the same. “Back for some hours at least.”

“Yes, of course. Could you leave us alone for a moment, Miss Hunter?”

Mycroft narrowed his eyes. Whatever this man had to tell him, she could hear it. But then he gave her a nod. Why should she suffer as well… Anthea left and the PM dropped onto the chair. Mycroft decided to start the conversation. “I suppose you are here because my brother has made Mr Scott clear that he was not happy about his visit. He's got some temper I admit, but…”

“Sorry, Mr Holmes, I don't know what you are talking about. What happened with my PA?”

Mycroft was puzzled. “He came to my house on Wednesday, bringing me folders to look at on your behalf!”

“No, what? I didn’t send him to your house! You were sick. Not even I… Listen, Mr Holmes, why I sent your PA out: I wanted to apologise. What I said to you was unforgivable. I was upset and I would have never thought it would have such consequences. I'm very happy that you did not have a heart attack.”

Mycroft shook his head in disbelief. He had expected anything but that. “It's alright, sir. I probably should have foreseen that the ambassador would bring himself into trouble by making advances to Lord Wormsey's wife.”

“Bullshit, Mr Holmes, if you excuse this expression. He had this coming for a long time and it was entirely his fault. It was completely unfair to blame it on you. But you see, this traitor-problem is killing me. My nerves are frazzled, and I wreaked my frustrations and fears on you. I hope that you can forgive me and we can go on working together to finally solve this problem. And I am totally aware that you have to slow down your pace. Take all the free time that you need to recover. This country will need you for many years to come!”

Perhaps Mycroft was still in his bed and dreaming. This was such a surreal conversation. But then he shook off his confusion. “Thank you, sir. I very much appreciate that. I will do my best to help you find the traitor but I have to admit I'm not yet physically able to work long hours.”

The PM stood up. “I have to thank you, Mr Holmes. I'm sure that you want to go through your reports now, perhaps you will have time for a short meeting later. Just let me know when, I'll make time. And don't worry, please. We'll need to find him, but not for the price of your health.” With these words he left, and Anthea came back in.

“Would you pinch me, please?” he said to her after she had taken place.

“Why, sir?” she asked with an a little too innocent expression in her eyes.

“You spoke to him!”

“Pardon? Why would he listen to what I tell him? I'm just a little assistant!”

Mycroft shook his head, grinning. “I don't know what you did, but thank you anyway. He turned from a raging tiger into a kitten within five days. I must have been your influence.”

“I have really no idea what you are talking about. Can we start working now?”

“Yes, we'd better do. Alright, let's get to the reports first…”


	32. Chapter 32

It was almost eight p.m. when Sherlock rang the doorbell. From the look on his face, it was clear that he didn't have the slightest wish to do it.

“Finally! Come in! How are you, Mycroft?” John welcomed them.

“Good, thank you, John. Hello Miss Tanner.” Her pregnancy was not yet visible in her tight, white dress.

“Oh, call me Kelly, please. May I have your coats? Oh, hi doggie!”

Lucky ran into the house, and Mycroft followed up slowly and looked around. The house was not big, but pretty new, and everything looked neat and comfortable; it was a real home.

“You missed Rosie,” he heard John telling Sherlock. “I let her stay up until seven-thirty, but now she's sleeping.”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled. “Mycroft had an important call, so we couldn't come earlier.” He glanced over to Mycroft and gave him an apologetic look. Of course there had not been such a call. Except for the call of their bodies that just hadn't wanted to separate.

When Mycroft had come home from work at Friday afternoon, he had been feeling as worn out as if he had worked his usual long hours. Sherlock had urged him to take a relaxing bath, and after that they had cuddled up on the couch, wrapped in a huge, soft blanket, with a snack on the table and an old movie playing on TV. Eventually Mycroft's right hand had started searching around and had found Sherlock's cock and had finished him up within a minute. But today he had felt better, and Sherlock had tenderly taken him for the first time since the last weekend; and after taking it easy for the rest of the day, he had done it again just before they should have left the house to go to John's. It had been clear that Sherlock didn’t want to go at all and that he already regretted having told John that they would show up for a while. But he had done that and here they were.

“Did you see your doctor, Mycroft?” John asked while they were walking through the hallway into a surprisingly big living room, where the other guests were already sitting around, chatting and drinking wine, beer or water.

“Yes, on Thursday. He was content with the results of the ECG, everything looks good.”

“That's good news. But I suppose he told you to slow down a bit, too.”

“John, my brother knows exactly what he should do. No need to switch on the doctor modus today; he should just relax for an hour,” Sherlock said in a rather sharp tone.

“Alright, no need to get upset,” John snapped. “I just meant to be helpful!”

“Sorry,” Sherlock mumbled and shot an apologetic look at Mycroft once more.

“The house is very nice,” Mycroft said, changing the subject.

“It's not completely finished,” Kelly explained. “But we are just buying some nice stuff when we find it, and in the end it will be a really great home for us, I hope.” She had tucked her arm into John's and both of them seemed to be very happy. “Sit down, Mr Holmes, please. I think you know everybody? What would you like to drink?”

“Just some water, please,” Mycroft answered. Before he took a seat, he greeted everybody. Anthea smiled at him. She sat next to Molly on the other side of the table, wearing a short, green dress that had no resemblance to her usual work outfits. She looked a lot younger and very attractive. The glass in her hand seemed to contain only water. The pathologist said  _ hello _ rather shyly, apparently not quite comfortable with seeing him and Sherlock together yet. She had put on more makeup than usual, too, wearing a light-blue dress that suited her well. Greg Lestrade, in black from head to toe, shook his hand a lot more careful than he had done on the occasions they had met before.  _ Not an invalid _ , he thought, but he just gave him a friendly smile and said  _ hello _ .

“Mr Holmes, how are you?” Mrs Hudson asked when he took her hand. Sherlock had spoken to her last on Wednesday.

“Better, thank you. You mind if I sat beside you?”

“Oh, of course not. Hello, Sherlock!”

The chairs were standing so close that Mycroft's thigh was pressed against Sherlock's. When his lover reached out for a plate with crackers, he even rested his other hand on Mycroft's leg. The contact let a warm shiver shoot through his groin. His cock was twitching, and he carefully put a serviette over his lap and took a cracker as well.

He listened to the rather boring conversation at the table. This was neither the place nor was he in the mood for a professional chat with Anthea, and she seemed to be very interested in what Molly Hooper was telling her about autopsies anyway. Greg was talking about a murder he might need Sherlock's help for, and he seemed to be a little confused that Sherlock was hardly paying attention to what he said. Martha was speaking with Kelly about her pregnancy, and he blanked that out at once.

“Sherlock, could you lend me a hand with getting some more beer and wine?” he heard John ask, and Sherlock stood up reluctantly, patting his shoulder for a second, and disappeared with the doctor.

*****

Sherlock followed John into the kitchen. Everything was neat and friendly, and most of the cooking utensils on the shelves were pink. Pink!

“It's good that you did come,” the doctor said when he handed the two bottles of beer to Sherlock that he had taken out of the fridge. “Just a shame that you came too late to see Rosie. She misses you. And I do, too.” He reached out for more bottles.

Sherlock didn't have the slightest wish to get into a soppy conversation with his former best friend. “Well, we are all busy,” he said.

“It seems you don't go to Baker Street at all anymore.”  _ So why should you be busy? _ was very clearly written between the lines.

“Well, exactly like you,” Sherlock retorted.

“But you live there! And you are the consulting detective! I work in the hospital full days now.”

He wasn't in the mood for arguing with John, either. “That's exactly why it's none of your business anymore. Don't we have enough alcohol now? It's not that there are a dozen people in there, and neither I nor Mycroft nor Anthea are drinking alcohol. And I guess Kelly doesn’t either.”

John took out another bottle of wine. “What do you want to do with your life now that you have obviously no interest in solving cases anymore? You can't live at the expense of your brother forever!”

He glared at the doctor. “He needs me now!”  _ And I just earned ten million pounds with a case, you arsehole! _

“Yes, but he doesn't have a deadly disease; he will be completely fine with the medication and if he takes better care of himself.”

“As if he would do that…” It was not fair to Mycroft but what else should he have said?  _ I stay at his house because I love to fuck with him _ ? John might have dropped the expensive wine.

“And you think you can make sure that he does? Why the hell should he listen to you if he doesn’t do what his doctor tells him? You never listened to his concerns!”

“People can change,” Sherlock said, and who knew that better than he did. He stalked out of the kitchen with the bottles. He so had enough of this conversation. And of John actually. Why the hell had they come here at all? They could be on the couch now or in the bed, he could be kissing Mycroft or sucking his dick. He caught himself licking his lips.

But John was not through with preaching. “You need a future, Sherlock, and that can't be living in your brother's house and holding his hand. It's not normal to…”

Sherlock swirled around to him, grabbing the bottles harder. “Don't you say that!”

“Sherlock, please, I didn't mean to imply anything! God, no!” John looked terrified and right-out disgusted, and Sherlock was about to throw up, horrified of his own dumbness even more than of John's behaviour. Could he have reacted any more stupidly? What the fuck was wrong with him? If John didn't have the image of Mycroft being more than his brother before, he would certainly have it now… “It's alright, John, forget it.” He turned to go through the corridor, knowing that he had to keep a bigger distance to Mycroft for the thirty minutes they still had to stay… He brought the bottles into the living room and put them on the table, but he just couldn't sit down now.

He looked over to Mycroft, who gave him a questioning look that Sherlock answered with a smile and a short wink, then he turned to go to the glass doors that led to the terrace. When he had opened them up and slipped outside, closing them behind him, he thought that he'd like to smoke a cigarette now. How ironic after just thinking that he didn't need that anymore just two days ago. He didn't know why he was feeling so restless and so tense, besides being upset about his stupid reaction to John's rant. But perhaps it was just because he was here with people he'd known for years, who considered themselves his friends, and still they didn't know anything about him. He could talk open with Martha and now Anthea if nobody else was around, and he did trust Molly to keep their secret, but on balance, he had to put on a mask. The mask of the man who died for solving murder cases and who cared for his friends. He had worn this mask for years, but it didn't fit anymore.

He startled when the door behind him was being opened.

“Hi,” Molly said and wrapped her arms around herself. “It's cold tonight.”

“Yes.”  _ Why don't you just go back in then? _

“It's funny - if I didn't know it better now, I would think you are upset because you have to watch John and Kelly together. But that can't be it. And Mycroft seems to be okay.”

“Yes, he does today. But for how long.” And that was it. After the fear of losing him had vanished due to being told that his lover had not suffered a heart attack, he had taken care of him and pampered him for days, and his thoughts had been distracted by the cosy times. And now Mycroft was back at work, the next important mission was waiting, he would be tied up very soon again. He would feel better, and forget all the good advice. He would return to working so hard that he would almost pass out. And someday it would happen then. Perhaps a heart attack, perhaps a stroke. He remembered the words of the fortune teller:  _ This love is stronger than anything else. The light it brings is stronger than death.  _ But that wasn't true. Death was stronger than everything. “I can't lose him, Molly.” He wondered if she would say now that the only certainty people had in life was death. Who should know that better than she did?

But she didn't say anything like that. “He means a lot to you,” she quietly stated instead.

“Everything, Molly. He means everything to me. He and Lucky. They're my whole world. And here we are at my so-called best friend's house, and have to hide what we have.”

“I'm sorry. I can't even imagine how this must feel.”

He felt a bit ashamed. Molly had just learned a few days ago that the man she still loved had a relationship with his brother, and that all her hopes - hidden deep inside of her despite her claiming the opposite - would never come true. And here he was - telling her how much he loved Mycroft. But she already knew that, didn't she? She had even asked them for a kiss to burn out her desires.

“It doesn't feel good at all,” he said. “I guess I should go inside again. Live through another half an hour, and then we'll go home.”

She nodded. “I think it's quite nice. Anthea is a really pleasant person. I gave John and Kelly the concert tickets by the way. I think they liked them.”

“Oh, yes, thank you for getting them.” He took out his wallet and paid his and Mycroft's share of the costs. “I'll go back in now before John comes out and drags me inside at my ear. And you are cold, come in.”

He went back into the living room, returning to the chair next to Mycroft, while Molly took place beside Anthea again.

His man looked at him. “Everything alright?”

“Yes.” No matter what he said, Mycroft would sense that it was a lie anyway. “How are you feeling?” Mycroft was pretty pale, he realised. Paler than before they had come here.

“Okay. Pretty tired though.” And he sounded exhausted.

“Let's go. Now.” Sherlock stood up, less than a minute after sitting down. Mycroft drank up his water.

“Sherlock, what about the case? Will you help me?” Lestrade asked from the other side of the table.

“It was the other lawyer in the chambers. He has the weapon in a secret drawer in his desk.”

“But how… Never mind. Thank you!”

Sherlock nodded and grabbed Mycroft's shoulder. “Brother. We're going.” After Mycroft had stood up, Sherlock turned to Martha. “I'll be in touch. Send all clients away like you did last week.”

“There are not many coming anymore,” she said in a sad voice.

“Good. Molly, Anthea.”

“Goodnight Sherlock,” Molly said, but Anthea got up.

“I didn't drink any alcohol. I'll bring you home and come back then.”

Mycroft protested but Sherlock smiled. “Thank you, that would be nice.”

He watched Mycroft shaking hands with Molly and Martha and the DI. Kelly was looking at them with an unhappy face. “Do you have to go already?”

“Yes, Mycroft is not feeling well.”

She nodded and looked over to John, who was watching them with a stony expression. He got up when Mycroft came to him and offered him his hand. “I'm sorry, John, but it has been a horrible week.”

“Of course. I'd say call me when you need anything, but I know you won't do that anyway.”

“John!” Kelly said with a shocked voice.

Mycroft was apparently missing the words to reply to that resentful statement, and Sherlock just smiled. “Goodbye, John, Kelly. I hope that you'll have a nice evening.”  _ And a nice life.  _ He just knew that he would not see them again. He picked up Lucky and left the room.

Kelly brought them to the door. “I'm so sorry about John. But it's just because he misses you so much, Sherlock. He also misses the work he did with you, even though he doesn't want to admit it.”

“He's got you now. I wish you all the best.” Both he and Mycroft shook hands with her and then left to go to Anthea's car.

“We could have called a cab,” Mycroft said, apparently feeling guilty for keeping her from the rave.

“Sir, it's no problem at all. It's not like it's the best party I've ever been to.”

Sherlock grinned and opened the backdoor for Mycroft. After he had climbed in, he followed him and after gently putting the dog at his feet and fastening the seat belt, he laid a hand on Mycroft's cheek. Mycroft smiled and stroked his hand tenderly. It was so nice that they didn't have to hide their feelings from Anthea. And Sherlock thought that she deserved a little reward for driving them home. He bent over as much as possible and kissed Mycroft on the ear, hoping he would turn to him so he could reach his mouth. But Mycroft shook his head.

“Sherlock, not now.” He sounded embarrassed, but he couldn't suppress a smile.

Sherlock caught Anthea's gaze in the rear mirror. “She doesn't mind. Give me your lips.” He knew why Mycroft was so hesitant to do that, even though he didn't have a problem with kissing in front of Molly. Molly had needed it for getting over Sherlock. Anthea worked with him, and he was her superior. And he had not heard what she had told Sherlock.

“I'm sorry, Anthea, he shouldn't have drunk so much water,” Mycroft said with a wink.

She giggled. “But he's right. I really don't mind.”

“You heard it. Kiss!” He knew that Anthea not only wouldn't mind if they shared a proper kiss, she would love to see it, but he understood that she didn't want to tell this her boss.

“You are impossible,” Mycroft protested, but he looked a lot better now than just five minutes before and sounded a lot less tired, which was what Sherlock had aspired ahead of pleasing Anthea.

Okay, and he wanted a kiss. “Please? Just a small one?”

“Please, sir, do him the favour. I won't watch.”

_ Liar _ , Sherlock thought with a grin and winked to her eyes in the mirror.

“My God, we'll be at home in less than five minutes! Can you really not wait for that short time? Okay, come here.”

And finally their lips met. Mycroft pressed his closed mouth on his, of course not opening it for his tongue, but that didn't keep Sherlock from licking across his lips. Sherlock heard Mycroft gasp, and there was a matching tone from the front seat. Mycroft broke away at once. “Anthea!”

“Sorry sir, I just saw there's a spider in the car. I'll have to get it out later.”

“Spider, my arse,” Mycroft mumbled, but his eyes were sparkling, and Sherlock laughed out loud. This evening was ending so much better than he had expected.

He grabbed Mycroft's neck. “Feeling better, honey?”

“Yes. Probably I was just a little bored. And I saw that you only wanted to escape.”

Sherlock opened his eyes widely. “But you looked pale!”

“I'm always pale, Sherlock. You saw what you expected to see.”

“Cunning man!”

“You know that I'm…”

“…the smart one, yes. How could I have forgotten.”

“So it was really not necessary to keep you from attending the party, Anthea. Sorry!”

She chuckled. “I knew that of course. Your eyes were rolling so strongly that I was afraid the iris would disappear for good. And Sherlock looked so annoyed when he came back with Dr Watson that I was afraid he would smash the bottles on the table. I'll just go back there for a little while and then I'll go home as well. I just showed up to keep you company, and I didn't have any other plans. By the way, Miss Hooper…”

“Yes?” Sherlock asked, entwining his fingers with Mycroft's on his thigh.

“Is she single?”

Mycroft opened his eyes widely. “Yes, I suppose so, but I think you are not quite her type.”

“Well, I could have a careful try.”

“Yes, do that, Anthea,” Sherlock said. “She might have enough of men now.”

“She knows it.” It was not a question.

“Yes, unfortunately, on Wednesday she came over to Mycroft's and saw my tattoo.”

“Tattoo?!” He could nearly see her fantasy running amok.  _ Where is it, and what does it show that Molly could deduce that they are together? _

“Just our initials on my stomach.” They had almost reached Mycroft's house.

“My God, that's so romantic. And so damn sexy. Sorry, sir.”

Mycroft shook his head again. “I've never imagined such depths in you, Anthea. But then, you probably thought the same when you found out about us.”

She stopped the car and turned around to them. “No, I didn't. There's nothing wrong with what you do. We couldn't really finish our conversation yesterday. Be assured, I will support you and protect your secret in every possible way.”

Mycroft looked very touched. “Thank you, Anthea. I very much appreciate that.”

“So do I,” Sherlock added. “And also that you are going to tell my lover when he's working too hard.” That brought him a deprecating stare from Mycroft, but there was a soft glow in his eyes at the same time.

“I can judge that myself very well, Sherlock. You won't have to worry about me.”

“That remains to be seen. Let me know when he's misbehaving, Anthea.”

“I'm afraid I can't do that.”

“See, she knows where her loyalties have to lie.” Mycroft sounded rather satisfied.

“But I will make you aware of it, sir. I owe that not only to Sherlock but also to you.”

Mycroft smiled at her. “Two against one, well, I think I'll have to pace myself then.”

“Yes you do. Thank you for driving us, Anthea, and have some fun at the party. And I'll cross my fingers that you can convert Molly.”

“Sherlock! But I thank you as well. We'll see each other on Monday.”

“Goodbye sir, Sherlock. Have a good night.”

They got out of the car and Lucky immediately ran to a bush to pee.

“Finally at home,” Sherlock declared.

Mycroft chuckled. “It's not as if we had been away for hours and hours.”

“Every minute was too long. I want you so much.”

“Again?” They entered the house and waited until Lucky joined them before Sherlock closed and locked the door.

“Always, Mycie.”


	33. Chapter 33

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft needs some TLC. And he gets it of course...

When Mycroft woke up that Sunday morning, it was not quite bright outside. But he had slept for ten hours straight, he estimated, and he was feeling really good. He glanced down at the end of the bed where the dog was sleeping on his back; his legs were up in the air, and he was snoring quietly. With a smile he turned his head to look at the other side of the bed. And there it was, the Greek-God-like body, naked and still deeply asleep on the stomach. Sherlock's face was completely hidden by his black curls so Mycroft could not kiss his cheekbones. So instead he bent over and brushed his lips over another cheek, round and firm, the skin soft and tasty.

The sight alone had been enough to make him get hard, the feeling of Sherlock's skin on his lips made him moan quietly. He reached down to his dick, caught a drop from the tip and smeared it over the head and then grabbed his member with his fist and started massaging himself. He sensed that Sherlock wouldn't mind being woken up by him rubbing his cock between his seductive cheeks, but still he wouldn't do that. He liked his man to be conscious and consenting. He started beating off harder, and the slapping noises first woke the dog, who stretched and jumped off the bed to disappear discreetly, and then Sherlock, who raised a hand to push the curtain of hair aside that blocked his view on Mycroft.

“What are you doing there?” he mumbled sleepily.

“Well, what does it look like?” Mycroft retorted and continued his efforts until a huge hand grabbed his wrist and forced him to stop.

“It's not that I don't like watching you do that, but why are you about to waste a fine load when you could bury your cock in my arse and shoot it up there? As you look so healthy now that I guess you'd want to do that?”

“I do, but you were sleeping, Sherlock - I didn’t want to wake you, and I didn't want to take advantage of you.”

“You're kidding, right?” Sherlock shook his head and then shifted his body a bit and spread his cheeks with both hands, exposing that pink, puckered, hidden spot. “Put it in there, now. I didn’t get it for a week and my prostate is missing you so fucking much. Well, you know where the lube is.”

Mycroft laughed. “Soon.” He rolled on his stomach, carefully avoiding to bend his hard dick on the bed, and let his tongue work its way up and down the hot, tasty crack offered to him so naughtily, and he listened to the music of Sherlock's moans when he started licking him inside. His cock was literally dripping now so he grabbed the blueberry-flavoured lube that Sherlock had bought two weeks ago, and prepared Sherlock's hole for an intruder bigger than a finger or two. He closed his eyes in pleasure when said intruder breached the sinfully tight muscle and slid into hot, sticky wetness. It felt so great that he was close to crying, and he knew that he wouldn't last long. He had missed it so much.

“Yes, take me, Mycie, I need you, oh, fuck…”

If Mycroft had counted, he wouldn't have needed all ten fingers to count the strokes until he felt his climax arising. In the last moment he pulled out his cock and watched the spurts of cum that landed on Sherlock's back while he was sliding his dark-red dick between the round cheeks. He didn’t allow himself to collapse but lay down close to him, slid two fingers in his hole to go on massaging him, and licked up every drop he could get while listening to his lover's constant moaning. When Sherlock's back was clean, he turned him around and lay flat on his body, capturing his mouth in a possessive kiss. Sherlock grabbed the back of his head and, shivering from excitement, kissed him hungrily back while he was frantically rubbing his hard dick on Mycroft's thigh, breathing hard. Eventually Mycroft decided to release him and turned around to wrap his lips around his hot, wet flesh. He had hardly started sucking him powerfully when Sherlock screamed and his palate was hit by several strong eruptions of sperm. He swallowed it down with little moans of pleasure and took his time to lap over the twitching dick until it was as clean as Sherlock's back.

After fulfilling his mission, he put his head on Sherlock's stomach. “What a nice way to start the day,” he murmured, enjoying the way Sherlock's long fingers were caressing his face.

“The best. I love you, Mycie.”

“I love you, Sherlock. Thank you.”

“For what?”

“For your tender care during this horrible last week, for your patience and your concern, for not saying _I told you so_ after I collapsed, for your constant support, for the way you just made me feel and simply for being in my life.”

“Oh Mycie, do you want to make me cry? I do all that - like you have done for me all my life - because I love you and because you mean everything to me. There's absolutely nothing I wouldn't do for you.”

Mycroft left his comfortable place and moved up to kiss him. “You're everything I've ever wanted, Sherlock.”  Both startled when Lucky jumped onto the bed and came to them, tail-wagging and grinning in a way only dogs could grin. Mycroft smiled. “Yes, Lucky, of course that includes you, too.” He touched the little head and kissed Sherlock on the lips again, and he thought that, on balance, he was the happiest man in the world.

*****

Sherlock enjoyed the quiet Sunday with his man after the hot encounter in the morning. He didn't want to demand more from Mycroft than he would be able to give him, and despite the fact that Mycroft looked much better, he was not sure if hours of lovemaking were a good idea at the moment. And Mycroft was tense and nervous because of the mission in the Ukraine that would take place two days later. They spoke about it in detail, and Sherlock even encouraged him to call the office to see if it was progressing well. He hoped Mycroft would get it out of his system to relax for the rest of the day. Sherlock made lunch for them and after devouring it, they went to the park to play with Lucky. He was happy that Oscar was there, too, further distracting Mycroft from his worries.

When they came home, Mycroft looked at him in a certain way, and Sherlock knew that he had to get naked quickly, and he happily obeyed. It was his turn to top and he took him tenderly and slowly while they were lying on their bed side by side, let his feelings of love and devotion flow over to Mycroft along with his deep strokes and in the end with his seed, and after Mycroft had come over Sherlock's hands moments later, he held him close, still buried inside him, and whispered words of love in his ear until he dozed off in his arms. Sherlock stayed awake, enjoying being with him like that, wondering though what the next days would bring.

Later they went downstairs to the gym. Mycroft made a try on the treadmill, and Sherlock watched him all the time while he was lifting weights, making sure that Mycroft was doing well and he was not overtaxing himself. But Mycroft was reasonable and stopped after fifteen minutes of rather slow walking; then he sat down and watched Sherlock train.

After a light dinner, they went to bed very early, not doing anything but kissing for the next hour. Sherlock was amazed every time how tremendously he enjoyed their kissing sessions. His lips just couldn't get close enough, his tongue couldn't get deep enough, and there was always another sweet spot in Mycroft's mouth that had to be licked at once. Of course, eventually Mycroft started twisting his nipples and teased his arse, and Sherlock finally turned around and silently asked him to fill him up. This time Mycroft lasted longer, and Sherlock loved every minute of it.

The Monday came, and Sherlock decided to go to Baker Street for a change. Mycroft would have to stay in the office a lot longer than on Friday, and he knew that he would get crazy if he spent the whole day in his house waiting for him. It turned out though that he could have stayed at Mycroft's. There was only one client asking for his help, and he solved the case after listening to the man for four minutes _("She's not cheating on you. She's just planning a surprise party for your birthday. Surprise!” )._

After playing with Lucky for a while, he went downstairs to Mrs Hudson. Mycroft had not answered to the encouraging text he had sent him, probably he was hurrying from one meeting to the other. Sherlock needed a distraction. It took her a while to hear him knocking over the loud music that was hurting his ears. Eventually it went silent, and the old lady opened the door.

“Hello dear, come in. Would you like tea?”

He did, and they sat down at the kitchen table. “How was the rest of the party?” Sherlock asked, just to be polite.

“John was not in such a good mood. But Kelly was lovely and she tried to make everybody feel comfortable.”

“I asked Mycroft to go there with me only because I thought you would be upset if I didn't show up,” Sherlock admitted. “It wasn't a good idea. John just couldn't stop nagging, and I can't stand him anymore.”

“He just wants to protect you, Sherlock.”

“But why? He's disappeared from my life so why should he still bother?”

“Oh Sherlock, that's why he's feeling so guilty. He wants you to be happy and do something you like, now that he's found his luck with Kelly and a baby on the way. He doesn't know in the end that you are in such good hands. How is Mycroft doing now?”

“He's definitely better. But he went back to work much too soon for my taste. Something important is going to happen tomorrow, and he's working on it and I bet he will be late, no matter what he promised me. He's not going to listen to his heart.” _Or to me._

“Have you spoken to him since this morning?”

“No. I texted him, but he was too busy to reply I guess. I'll try again later. But I guess I'll go back to his house now, there's not much to do here.”

“Well, it seems it got abound that your way with clients has changed quite a bit.”

“Which is a nice way to say that I'm always pissed off when they bother me with their stupid problems.” There were still some brave and hopeful people who dared do that, but he was sure that eventually nobody would show up anymore. “God, I wish I could move out here…” he hissed and blushed when he saw her face getting sad. “I'm sorry, Martha, but it just doesn't make any sense at all to keep that flat. What for? John is gone, and the clients are mostly gone, I'm gone for the largest part of the day, so why should I pretend I still live here?”

“Well, of course you're right. John is paying the rent for two months more. Why don't you say you can't afford paying it on your own, and move in with your brother when he stops doing it? I mean, he will feel even more horrible then but he'll get over it.”

“My God, that's a great idea.” And so simple that he wondered why _he_ had not thought of it. Of course, one could argue that he could look for another flatmate, but honestly, who should that be? It was a perfect explanation, given Mycroft's huge house; he still could say it was just a temporary solution. He just wondered if Mycroft would want that at all. Not because he didn't want to have him around, he was sure that his man would love to, but for the sake of not causing suspicion he might be hesitant…

“But have you thought about what you want to do for your living then?” Martha asked, unknowingly mirroring what John had been about at the party but in a lot less annoying tone.

And unlike the doctor, he could tell her the truth - well, at least a part of it. “I got a lot of money from a client, Martha. You might remember him, the black-haired guy you saw with me.”

“Oh, I do remember him…” she said with a glow in her eyes, and he grinned.

“Exactly this guy. His daughter was in danger, and I saved her, well, together with a friend. A new friend. He was very thankful, and I'll never have to work again.”

“Oh dear! But why don't you just tell that the others?”

“I can't. And please keep your silence about that, too. Let's say the way we saved her wouldn't be to the liking of Scotland Yard… Besides, if they knew, I couldn't explain at all why I should move in with Mycie completely.”

“Oh, I see… Of course I won't tell anyone.” She patted his hand. “So you are a rich man now. But still, will this satisfy you for long? Since your brain is so keen on working all the time? But well, I'm silly, you have changed so much in the last couple of months.”

“I'm an addictive person, Martha, no matter if it's drugs or cases. And now it's Mycie, the source of all of my addictions. My brain is very content to be stimulated by him, so to speak… And I guess I'll still help Lestrade out; at least his cases are not completely boring sometimes.” He would just have to explain the DI why he was living with his brother. And Lestrade very well knew how difficult his relationship with Mycroft had always been. He was not sure if Greg would buy the _I-can't-afford-the-flat-on-my-own_ -excuse. He sighed. Perhaps he had been too optimistic. He saw Martha's questioning look and explained what was going through his head.

“Oh, I don't know, you are both so smart, you will find a way. You could invent a little drug- or depression-problem if nothing else pops in mind, forcing your brother to look after you.”

“Martha, you are overflowing with great ideas today! You…” He couldn't finish the sentence as his special phone was chirping with a call, not a text. “Sorry, that's him!” He saw Martha smile and accepted the call. “Mycie, how are things?”

_“Hi honey. Everything is in place now for the mission. So far there has been nothing suspicious. But then, it wasn't last time either and it blew up. We can only wait until tomorrow now. I will have another meeting now and will try to keep up with my usual work after lunch. I'll try to be at home around four-thirty, but I'm not sure if I can get out so soon.”_

Sherlock bit on his lip. He was about to tell him that he just had to take care of himself, but he didn't say it. Mycroft knew it very well himself. “That sounds good anyway. I love you, Mycie.”

He could hear him smile when he answered. _“Thank you for your understanding, darling. And I love you, too, and I'll be at home as soon as I can. My neck is a little stiff from sitting too much. Would you consider giving me a massage later?”_

“I surely will give a massage to any stiff part of your body with pleasure.” Sherlock heard Martha giggle and Mycroft laugh, and he grinned.

_“Say Martha hello from me, and I can't wait to be in your very capable hands.”_

“I will, and be assured you will be in more than in my hands,” Sherlock whispered and saw his landlady's eyes sparkle. Apparently she could still hear very well, despite her age and the loud music she used to listen to.

 _“Definitely something to look forward to,”_ Mycroft said. _“I need to go now but I'll think of you all the time.”_

“So will I. Love you.”

_“Love you, too. Take care for now.”_

“And you!”

After ending the call, Sherlock looked at Martha. “He says hello. I'll tell him about your suggestion when he's at home tomorrow evening. He will need to have a clear head for what might happen tomorrow.”

The doorbell rang and he sighed. “And another stout-hearted human who dares disturb me. Let's see what it is about this time.” He stood up and gave her a peck on the cheek. “Thank you, Martha, for all your support and your ideas and your care. I highly appreciate it. And even if I move out in two months, I'll always keep in touch with you.”

She smiled sadly at him. “I love you, my boy. All I want is to see you happy.”

Sherlock hugged her quickly, and then he left the flat to listen to whatever stupid problem his next client was going to bug him with.

*****

When Mycroft had hung his coat up and had put his umbrella in its stand short before five o'clock, he realised that he had to look every bit as tired as he was feeling just from a look into Sherlock's eyes. He suppressed it at once but the flicker of deep concern and at the same time resignation made Mycroft's heart heavy. “Sorry,” he quietly said, and Sherlock was in his arms at once. Mycroft embraced him thoroughly and kissed his temple, and then Sherlock turned his head and kissed him on the mouth. After several minutes of intense tongue-tangling, Sherlock dragged him to the living room, and he sat down on the couch. Sherlock took his shoes off and urged him to put his legs up and lean his head against a big pillow that Sherlock had stuffed behind his head. He would have loved to drink a scotch now but he knew that this was out of question. So he gladly accepted a glass of water with a piece of lemon in it, and he drank while he was tickling Lucky's head. The dog was lying flat across his stomach.

“In the mood for an early dinner before I'll massage the tense out of your body?”

“You'd need to have miraculous hands for that, dear,” Mycroft said with a wry smile.

“You doubt that?” Sherlock asked with raised eyebrows.

“Not at all,” Mycroft hurried to add. “But I do have a very bad feeling regarding what will happen tomorrow morning.” At daybreak the mission would start - namely rescuing several hostages from a terror cell. So far, as he had told Sherlock, all preparations had gone well, but he still feared that it would blow up.

“Remember you don't believe in premonitions,” Sherlock reminded him. He was sitting on a chair directly next to the couch, his hand softly touching Mycroft's cheek.

“Usually I don't. I don't know, perhaps I'm completely wrong and everything is going to work out fine. And to answer your question, yes, I would love to eat something first. Lunch only contained of a rather dry sandwich.”

Sherlock was up in a second. “Dinner will be ready in ten minutes then. And after that, it's time for your recreation program.”

“Thank you, Sherlock. You don't know what it means to me to come home to you and being treated like that.”

“Like what?” Sherlock asked softly and stood in the door.

“I don't know, like I was someone special.”

“Well, that’s what you are, Mycie. The most special man on earth.” With this remarkable statement he winked at him and left the living room.

“Did you hear that, Lucky?” The dog softly woofed, and he smiled. “You say he's right about that? Oh, you just flatter me as much as Mummy does.” He closed his eyes, exhaustion suddenly overwhelming his body and soul. “Just two minutes.”

He was woken up by a tender kiss on his lips. “Sorry to wake you, Mycie, but dinner can't wait longer and your stomach is growling so loudly that Lucky thinks that a huge, invisible dog is in here with us.”

“Oh, sorry, I didn't mean to fall asleep and scare our dog with the embarrassing sounds of my hunger.” Mycroft lifted his body and looked into blue-green eyes full of concern and love. “I'm fine, Sherlock, really. Just tired. But now let's eat, and I can't wait for your massage.” He hoped that he wouldn't fall asleep during it as he figured that Sherlock would want to do more than just knead his achy muscles.

“Don't worry, Mycie, it will be just a massage to make you feel better so you won't wake up tonight from a stiff, hurting neck. I will contain myself.”

On balance, Mycroft didn't like this thought. “And what if I don't want you to do that? Containing yourself?”

“Then I'll fuck you silly after the massage,” was the dry reply, and Mycroft laughed and finally stood and went to the well-laid table to devour what Sherlock had cooked for them.

Half an hour later, he was lying flat on the stomach, his eyes closed, but he was not that tired anymore. Somehow two huge, warm hands that were rubbing massage oil - smelling like oranges - into his back were keeping him from falling asleep. Sherlock had undressed himself in his usual fast pace and then had helped him to get out of his clothes as well. The bed had been already prepared with big, fluffy towels, and he had just let himself fallen on it.

Sherlock was squatting on his thighs and expertly worked over the stiff muscles in his neck and shoulders and his aching back, and every stroke of his hands was sending sweet shivers through his body. And he could have sworn that from time to time a rather hard, hot object was sliding over his naked arse.

“Your muscles are feeling a lot softer now,” Sherlock finally stated.

“I knew that you had magic hands,” Mycroft said. “Thank you darling, I do feel a lot better now. But your hands must be hurting.”

“They're just a little crampy. But I would like to lie down for a while, too.”

“Of course, baby,” Mycroft said, a little confused that Sherlock apparently thought he had to ask him for permission to rest. But then he smiled when a rather heavy weight - presumably Sherlock-shaped - was being put gently on his back. His lover was still slim but his increasing muscles added to his weight of course.

“Am I too heavy?” Sherlock asked him, his voice very quiet and very close to his ear. “I wouldn't want to destroy all the improvement I just hopefully caused.” He licked over the earlobe and Mycroft shuddered with excitement.

“Not too heavy, honey, you feel heavenly.”

“Good. And perhaps I can do something to make you feel heavenly, too. If you don't prefer sleeping that is.”

“I would appreciate all further efforts to make me feel good. And you could do that by just putting this hard object that I can feel against my arse _into_ my arse.”

“Oh, I guess that can be arranged,” Sherlock purred against his ear and licked over his neck. But then he made a rather disgusted noise. “Damn, this massage oil smells great, but it tastes awful.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Then it's good that you didn't massage the space that your cock is in right now. Lick me in there, Sherlock, please, and then take me to paradise.”

And Sherlock did as he was told. Mycroft didn't bother damping his moans when he felt Sherlock's long, hot tongue licking in circles around his entrance until he eventually dipped it in and started licking earnestly. His cock was throbbing now and he rubbed it on the mattress in the rhythm of Sherlock's penetrating tongue. Sherlock continued his treatment for several minutes until he prepared Mycroft with massing lube into his hole, and then he was in him, both of them gasping when he was sinking in slowly and carefully. His movements didn't remain slowly and carefully for long, and Mycroft started chewing on his bottom lip when the thrusts got harder and his prostate was being hit every time Sherlock's dick slid into him completely. And then he shifted the angle of penetration and a feeling so great that it almost tore him apart made Mycroft cry out so loudly that it echoed through the room, and both of them hissed: “Oh, do that again!”  And Sherlock did move in the same way again and Mycroft was pushed over the edge with another loud scream and he emptied himself on the towels and only seconds later Sherlock followed him, only that his seed was splashing on Mycroft's freshly massaged back. After Sherlock had cleaned him up with a few tissues, Mycroft turned around and pulled him into his arms.

“Thank you so much, my love, that was exactly what I needed. Well, _you_ are exactly what I need.”

Sherlock kissed him gently. “You're so welcome. I love you so much, Mycie. Let's sleep now, you have to be up so early.”

“I'd better do. But you don't have to keep your old, tired boyfriend company if you want to stay up.” In the end it was only seven-thirty…

“I'm exactly where I want to be. And I love to watch you sleeping.”

Mycroft smiled. “You always tended to have strange hobbies. I love you, Sherlock. Night- night.”

*****

Around twenty-four hours later Sherlock said: “Come in, the water is just as you like it.” He watched his lover step carefully into the thankfully big bathtub he was already sitting in. As soon as Mycroft had taken a seat between his legs, he embraced him from behind, pressing a kiss on Mycroft's shoulder. “Relax now, love, let me take care of you.” He took the sponge and started washing Mycroft's back, massaging it with the help of the bathing foam at the same time. Then he reached around and did the same to his chest.

“Seems that you are forced to do that now every day - taking care of me,” Mycroft mumbled after letting him wash and stroke him for a few minutes. “I just hope that you still feel like my lover, not my nurse.” It was a clear hint at their first night together, and also an expression of true concern. Of course Mycroft - in his own eyes not only the smart one but also the strong one - didn't want at all to be belittled and treated as if he was in dire need of help.

Sherlock let one hand slide playfully over his chest and the other one down to his belly. He loved to watch his fingers cradle through the black chest hair, covered in white foam, and play with a tasty, pink nipple. “I'm sure that a nurse wouldn't do that.”

“I wouldn't say that.” Mycroft tried to speak in an easy tone. “Such a nice treatment would probably lead to a big tip.” He turned his head and kissed Sherlock's cheek. “Honey, if your hands are searching for fulfilling another task, they might be disappointed today. I don't know if I could get it up.”

Sherlock kissed his lips quickly, feeling guilty that he had an erection (but who could blame his poor cock, being pressed against a naked, firm, slippery arse? Mycroft’s arse!). “We don't have to do anything, love. I just want to make you feel better. And that's my job as your lover; I don't have to be a nurse for that.”

“You're so sweet, Sherlock. Whatever would I do without you?”

“Wash your back yourself.” Sherlock pressed him as close as he could.

Mycroft chuckled. “You make me smile even on a day like that. Thank you.”

 _The day must have been a nightmare for him_ , Sherlock thought.

He had gotten up with Mycroft more or less in the middle of the night to help him get ready for work. Mycroft had protested and told him that he could get back to sleep, but Sherlock had not paid attention to that; instead he had made breakfast for them and also some juicy sandwiches for Mycroft's lunch as the politician would certainly not have time for going out of the office during the day, and he had also prepared a fruit salad for him as a healthy dessert. He had kissed him goodbye, and then he had taken Lucky out for half an hour before reading the news at the kitchen table. Two hours later he had received a text.

_Sherlock, it happened again, the mission has failed, it was another trap. Seven agents are dead as well as the hostages. It's just horrible. Everybody's gone crazy here. I'll try to get out at seven latest though. Love you. MH_

Sherlock had closed his eyes for a moment. The worst possible news. And while it was horrible what had happened, his worries were mostly about Mycroft. He didn't need that - the stress, more than thirteen hours at work, the feeling of having let these people down even though he couldn't have done anything more to save them. He had to take care of himself above all after what had happened only nine days ago. But Sherlock hadn’t dared tell him that again. It would have fallen on deaf ears, and he honestly hadn’t wanted Mycroft to be upset about him, not only because he didn't want to stress his lover even more, but because Sherlock couldn't bear being snapped at by him. So he had kept his reply free from everything that could have sounded like nagging.

_I'm so sorry, Mycie. I'll cross my fingers that you find him this time. Love you so much. And tonight I'll spoil you again. SH_

_Thank you, babe. For everything. Don't worry about me. See you later. MH_

Sherlock hadn't doubted that he would spend the day being worried about Mycroft. He had not known what to do with himself to distract him at least the slightest bit from that. Going to Baker Street again had not lured him at all. Instead he had done some research for the question of how to invest his money. But as he had never cared about money in his life, all the possibilities of increasing his riches had almost bored him to death. He had figured that he would ask Oscar about it, surely the hacker had some good ideas.

Just as he had switched on his official phone to call him, he had been startled by an incoming call. Lestrade.

_“Hi Sherlock. How are you?”_

“Well, I'm okay. Why?” The question had not sounded too casual.

_“Do you really have to ask? I already told you that I'm worried about you. Whenever we meet, you are either completely tense or so absent that I'm surprised that you have managed to put all necessary clothes on. Your best friend seems to be your enemy all at once and nobody knows why, and it's a miracle that I've reached you at all since normally you don't even bother switching your phone on.”_

Sherlock had only listened with half an ear. “Well, I'm fine. Do you have a case?”

The detective inspector had sighed. _“You don't even sound interested in the least if I have one or not. And in fact, I don't.”_

“Well, then have a nice day.”

 _“Wait! I did not just call to hear how you're doing. You might have heard or not, well, I guess not, that we are urged to work on cold cases more than we've done over the past years. We are looking at several murder cases, well, I don't, but DI Schuyler does.”_ He had paused, apparently waiting for Sherlock to say something, then he had continued with a sigh. _“I know that you don't want to work with anyone else, but perhaps, if you have time, could you have a look at some really complicated files? I convinced Schuyler that having you around is not as bad as everybody says.”_

“John asked you to do that, right? He told you that I didn't know what to do with my time so now you are making something up to keep me occupied.” The bloody doctor was sticking his oversized nose so much in Sherlock's matters that he'd eventually break it, along with an arm or two…

_“No, Sherlock, well, John has spoken with me, but we really need to solve these cases, we never had enough people or time to work on them, and in some cases the victim's families are waiting for answers since ten or more years. Now we are urged to take care of the matters, and my colleague will need all the help he can get. And I know how brilliant you are, no matter what you are up to at the moment.”_

“I'm not up to anything, Giles! I know what you are implying, but you are wrong!” he had said in a deliberately defensive tone. He'd been playing Mycie's game again, the game of _denying but letting him believe it was true_. He couldn't tell him he was taking drugs again (but of course he had never told Lestrade when he had done it) because Lestrade would not give him any cases anymore, and he needed them for holding up the ruse at least a bit. But if Lestrade feared he was in danger of being on the source again, he would certainly not question the need of Sherlock moving in with his brother. And of course, once Sherlock was living with Mycroft officially - Mycroft still had no idea about that - Lestrade would know he had to be clean as Mycroft would rather strangle him than letting him take drugs.

 _“I didn't imply anything. And I don't have time to argue with you. Schuyler is in his office now, contact him or not, just as you wish.”_ He had given Sherlock the room number and the man's extension number. _“Sherlock, I don't know what's going on in your life, and it makes me sad that you don't seem to trust me. If you need help, you know how to reach me. I'm always there for you.”_

He had ended the call without giving Sherlock the chance to reply, and Sherlock had sighed deeply. Why could they not leave him alone with their bloody concerns and their suggestions about how he should live his life? Of course, telling them _why_ everything had changed would have shut them up, but unfortunately it wasn't an option.

In the end Sherlock had called the other DI. He had sounded careful and suspicious, but he had admitted that his department desperately needed help with dozens of cold murder cases and that he'd appreciate Sherlock's help enormously. Sherlock had let him know that he was willing to come over for a couple of hours, under the condition that he could bring his dog. Schuyler had gladly accepted that so Sherlock had taken Lucky on a cab-ride to the Yard, and half an hour later, he had started looking at first file. After reading and making notes for two hours, he had pointed out several traces they could follow up on five cases and picked out the murderer on two more. The cold cases were a lot more difficult to solve even for him because at the time when they'd been committed, there had been a lot less methods for collecting evidence. But the DI had almost embraced him for the tips he had given him and the possibilities he had opened up for him, and only a stern look from Sherlock had kept him from getting tactile. He had almost begged Sherlock to go on helping him, and Sherlock had said that if he didn't have anything better to do, he would come back later in the week.

Sherlock had needed fresh air after spending such a long time in a dusty, dark police office room, and he and Lucky had walked back to Mycroft's, and after freshening up they had gone to the park for some extended ball playing. Later Sherlock had worked out again and then he had prepared dinner, and when Mycroft had finally come home, he had fed him and then suggested taking a bath together.

Now he licked over the freshly scrubbed skin of Mycroft's shoulders.

“Does it taste better than the massage oil? The foam?”

“Not really. But with one lick it's removed and then I'm tasting pure, delicious Mycroft.” He let his tongue drawing circles over his neck again, just to prove his point. And yes, to get another mouthful of that sweet taste. Of course, he couldn't do anything against the fact that his hard cock was rubbing over the hairy but soft skin of his arse in the meantime. To his surprise he could feel Mycroft's breath speeding up when he _accidentally_ let his hand get in contact with his dick. “I forgot to wash that, too,” he purred, and closed his fingers around the suddenly plump flesh.

Mycroft cleared his throat. “Perhaps I _can_ get it up in the end. God, Sherlock, so many people died today, and I want to have sex with you.”

“It was not your fault that they died, Mycie.” He refrained from saying that it made no difference to the victims or their families if Mycroft relaxed after working so many hours so soon after his operation or not. Mycroft knew that of course. “Don't feel guilty, not about their deaths and not about wanting to feel good again. You did all you could to avoid what happened, you tried all day to find out who is to blame for it, and you will go on doing that tomorrow, so you can allow yourself to find at least a little joy on that hellish day.”

Mycroft turned around in his arms so he could look into his eyes with an expression full of gratitude and love. “I know you're right, and still I feel so fucking bad about what happened. But I'd love to be pampered a bit more now, if it's not too much trouble.”

“It's a hard chore, but I will see what I can do. Let's get out of here first though. We should make ourselves a bit more comfortable.”

And they went into their bedroom, and Sherlock spent the next hour with showing Mycroft how much he was loved, what a great man he was, and how much he deserved to feel good, even on a black day like this one.


	34. Chapter 34

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright...*takes a deep breath*... This is more or less the conclusion. It's not the last chapter but it is the climax of the story. 
> 
> Shame I won't be online much today, can't wait for your reactions...

When Mycroft entered the  _ Cabinet Office _ building the next morning, he felt refreshed after another night of sleeping deeply. He knew that he would need it for the work day that was waiting for him. The deaths of the agents and the hostages were weighing on his soul, and he was absolutely determined to make sure that this crime would not go unpunished. He realised that it was pretty quiet around him, and when he entered Anthea's office, she was not there. But he could see her handbag on the desk so probably she was just out for a moment.

He put his umbrella in its place and hung up his coat, then he sat down at his desk and started his computer. After putting in his password, he made sure that all programs were starting and closed his eyes for a moment until he would be able to begin working.

The chirping of his phone disturbed him thirty seconds later. He pulled it out and sighed. The PM. “Mycroft Holmes.”

_ “Mr Holmes, would you please come into the meeting room Victoria as soon as possible?” _

“Of course, sir. Are there new developments?”

_ “Yes. See you in a minute then.” _ The PM ended the call.

Mycroft got up, put his phone in the inside pocket of his jacket and left his office. Anthea's was still empty, but he guessed that she was already in the meeting room then. He felt excited and nervous. Had they found out who the traitor was? Would this nightmare end now? But the PM had not sounded exactly overjoyed. Not that he ever did…

When he entered the meeting room, a laptop was positioned on a table, ready to project something onto the wall. He greeted the PM, Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin with a nod. To his surprise he didn't see anything of Anthea or Albert Scott - not that he was missing the latter.

“Sit down, Mr Holmes,” the PM said in a pressed voice.

Mycroft took a seat and looked at him expectantly. The PM returned his look for a moment and then gave Sir Edwin a nod. “Could you show us the figure?”

Sir Edwin got up and typed something on the laptop. Mycroft looked at the wall and saw a bank account statement appear. The zoom went on the balance, it showed 563,987 British Pounds.

“This morning our routine checks of every possible person who could be the one who is betraying our country finally brought a match. On this account there we found an incoming payment, dated yesterday, with the sum of 500,000 pounds.”

“That’s great news,” Mycroft said.  “Whose account is it?” But while he was still speaking, he understood, and the blood froze in his veins, making him feel as if he was turning into an Iceman literally. “You can't be serious...,” he whispered, his hands were clenching into the armrests of his chair.

“Show us the name,” the PM demanded, and then - projected onto the wall in big letters - Mycroft read his own name.

“No,” he said, shaking his head.

“The reference, please,” the PM said in a flat tone.

_ Thank you for your cooperation, Mr Holmes! It's greatly appreciated! _

There was a total silence in the room. Mycroft was feeling as if he had become deaf, and it was as if he was looking through completely blind glass. “You can't believe that I am the traitor,” he finally brought out. “That I am guilty of killing our agents. Sir Edwin, Elizabeth, you know me for fifteen years.”

But Lady Smallwood just sent him a despising look and the bald sir avoided his gaze. Mycroft turned to the PM. Facts. He had to concentrate on the facts. “Where does the money come from?”

“Our lot is on it. So far they can only say it's coming from the RBC Bank in the Grand Cayman's. A number account. They are doing everything to find the source. Why don't you tell us where it's coming from?”

“You can't seriously believe that. And even if I was the traitor, do you really think I was so stupid to have the money transferred to my own account? We never found any trace of suspicious payments before, and now all at once it's appearing in my personal account?”

“I give you credit for that; it was the second thing your PA has told me as well when I asked her what she was thinking, or if she knew anything. The first was that I should go to hell.”

“Where is she now?” Mycroft asked in a toneless voice. “Did you fire her?”

“Of course not. I'm convinced that she has nothing to do with it. I asked my PA to keep her away from your office so she couldn't warn you. I wanted to see your face when we confront you with the evidence.”

“And which expression convinced you that I'm guilty?” He was talking, he was thinking, but his feelings were shut down.

“I should have known that you are much too intelligent to let it show on your face.”

“And still you think I'm so stupid to have this payment transferred to my account.”

“It could have been a mistake,” Sir Edwin threw in. “Perhaps your sponsor directed it to the wrong account.”

The PM shook his head. “I already said that I give you credit for that. That's why you are not arrested already and in a prison cell, awaiting charges for mass murder and high treason.”

Mycroft took a deep breath. “You must have checked who I'd been talking to on the phone as well as my emails. Given the fact that I am innocent, you can't have found anything there.” The thought crossed his mind how anticipatory it had been to always delete his texting with Sherlock, and in such a way that it couldn't be reconstructed. Probably they wouldn't have done that anyway. What an irony that the one criminal thing he did - namely sleeping with his brother - was not of any interest to them, instead they suspected him of being a completely different and much worse sort of criminal.

“Of course we did but you are smart enough to delete every suspicious conversation so it can't be traced back. How handy that you have all the necessary programs for that.”

“So in fact you have no evidence except for this payment,” Mycroft retorted. “Any Crown prosecutor would laugh into your face.”

“So what's your explanation for it?”

“Somebody wants you to believe that I am the traitor. He placed the money in my account to blame it on me.”

“A very generous way to accuse you.” The PM leaned forward. “It explains your loss of interest regarding all matters of national importance lately, and it does also explain why, as soon as the traitor reappeared, all at once you were as engaged as before. It was a distraction.”

“Why would I do that?” Mycroft quietly said. “What motive should I have? Money? You know my expenses if you checked everything. I'm living in my own house, I don't go on holiday, all I do is work.”

“Then you must have a secret life.”

Mycroft suppressed a wince. Of course he did. But he didn't need any extra money for it. “So you believe it? After all I've done for this country, you believe that I betrayed it, that I let our men run into death, let these hostages die, for money?”

“Yes. Yes I do,” the PM said in a cold voice. “I can't believe I even apologised to you lately. Be assured that we will turn every stone until we can prove that you are the lowest creature that had ever walked the earth. And then you will disappear in prison for good.”

“And what if you are wrong? What if you find out that I am yet another victim of the real traitor?” Still his voice was completely flat. He should have shouted, should have shaken all these bastards. But he was feeling as if his brain was wrapped into a cocoon. His heart was beating steadily. Only his hands were shaking.

“Then I will regret this conversation until the day I die. But this is not going to happen, and we both know it.” The minister stood up. “You are suspended from all your duties as of now. Hand your phone and your key card over to Miss Hunter who will have packed up all your personal stuff in the meantime. We will find you if there's anything new. Your account has been blocked of course. Don't leave the country. And better look out for a good lawyer.”

Mycroft slowly got up from his chair. There was nothing to say anymore. With straight shoulders, he stalked to the door. Like walking through deep fog, he moved through the corridor, not noticing anything until he reached the door to the antechamber that was still empty. He crossed it and entered his office. Anthea was standing before his desk, and on it was a small carton, probably containing the stuff he had to take home with him. And Anthea was not alone.

“Oh, good morning, sir. Not that it is such a good one for you, is it?”

“Get out now!” Anthea hissed. “I'm sure that your master is already whistling for you.”

Albert Scott grinned. “Perhaps you should reconsider your loyalties, Anthea. Seems your knowledge of human nature isn't the best.”

“But I can smell dog dirt on every given day! Get out!”

“My deed is done anyway, looking after you. Sir, hand me your phone please. You know it's the property of the British government. And from all the money you earned by betraying our country, I'm sure that you can afford to buy one of your own. Oh, and why am I still calling you  _ sir _ at all? Seems these times are over.”

“He's supposed to hand his phone to  _ me _ ,” Anthea countered. “And you will call him  _ sir _ until the day you die, which is soon hopefully, because he will come back to his position in no time!”

“Oh, which position is it usually, Anthea? I'm curious!”

“You will be dead in ten seconds if you don't GET OUT NOW!”

“Alright, no need to get upset. Have a lovely day - you too, Mr Holmes.”

Mycroft didn't turn his head to watch him go. He had silently listened to their conversation and it had seemed as if it was happening far away.

“God, how can they do that to you,” Anthea whispered after the door had shut behind the PM's personal assistant.

He forced himself to focus on her. “I don't know. I… don't know.”

And all at once she started to cry, thick tears were running down her cheeks. She crossed the distance between them and clung to his neck, sobbing against his chest. “I'm so sorry, so sorry, sir…”

He put one hand on her back and patted it. “No need to call me  _ sir _ anymore.”

She pulled back a little. “When they finally found out that you are innocent and you are back at work and you still don't want me to call you sir anymore, I will gladly refrain from doing it. But until then, you will be  _ sir _ for me.” She was still crying but tried to fight the tears. “I couldn't call Sherlock because this wasp was with me all the time, and I don't know the phone number he uses now. Do you want to call him now, from my phone?”

Mycroft nodded. He reached into his jacket and retrieved his phone, along with his key card that allowed him access to the building. He held both of it out for Anthea.

“Is there anything on your mobile that needs to be cleared?” she quietly asked when she took it.

He looked at her silently for a moment.

“I mean, texts from Sherlock?” she explained.

“No, I've always made sure that they are deleted.”

“You didn't just ask yourself if I meant something else, right?” Her voice was trembling.

“You don't doubt my integrity, Anthea? Not for a moment?”

“Sir, I'd rather believe that the fucking PM himself is the traitor than that it's you. If you don't come back because they have placed more wrong evidence on you, I will quit my job.”

“Don't do that, don't throw away everything because of me.”

“I will find another job in no time, and there is no way that I'll go on working for  _ them  _ if you are gone.” She sobbed again and fumbled for a tissue, and he gently pressed her shoulder. “God, it should be me comforting you, how can you be so calm?”

“Because I'm the Iceman.”

“No, you are not. Call Sherlock now so he'll be at home when you arrive. I will get a cab for you afterwards. I would drive you of course but I can't get away now.”

Of course, a cab.  There were no limousines available for him anymore. He was out. Finished. He took the phone from her hand and dialled Sherlock's secret phone number. He didn't have to look it up first, it was burnt into his brain.

_ “Anthea, what's wrong?” _ Sherlock asked after two dial tones.

“It's me, Sherlock,” he said.

_ “Oh, hi baby! What's wrong with your phone?” _

“Sherlock, are you at home?”

_ “No, in the park. What's happened?”  _ He sounded concerned and alarmed.

“I'll tell you later. Can you come home? I should be there in about twenty minutes.” He just couldn't make his voice sound lively. Even to his own ears he sounded like a robot.

_ “Of course, I'm already on my way. Mycroft, tell me what's wrong!” _

Mycroft thought for a moment that it was good that Anthea had not been able to call his lover. He would have shown up and shot them all. “Not now, Sherlock. See you soon then. And don't try to call me.” He ended the connection and gave the phone back to Anthea who immediately started to wipe over the display.

“Hello, I'll need a cab sent to 70 Whitehall as soon as possible. Thanks.” She ended the call. “Everything will be fine, sir. They will realise what mistake they made today and drop on their knees to beg your pardon.”

Mycroft nodded. “Don't bring yourself in the line of fire, Anthea. You don't have to go down with me. They will find another position for you.”

“I will do what I can to clear your name. If you need anything, just contact me.” She embraced him again. “Don't give up hope, sir.”

When she had let him go, he put his coat on and took his umbrella, and then he picked up the carton with the few personal things he had kept in his office, and left after a last goodbye. He didn't look at anyone and he didn't listen to anything when he was walking through the familiar corridor to the exit for the last time. The cab was already waiting, and he took place on the back seat, leaned back and tonelessly told the driver where to bring him.

*****

And again Sherlock was running through the house like a caged animal, followed by Lucky at every step. Mycroft's call and especially his tone had scared the crap out of him. What could have happened? Had he lost his phone with Sherlock's texts on it? But Mycroft had told him that he deleted them. Had he overlooked some? Was he blackmailed perhaps from someone who had gotten hold of the phone?

He tried to calm down so he wouldn't be a nervous, babbling mess when Mycroft turned up. He provided himself with a generous amount of scotch and poured it down. After a moment of hesitation, he filled a second glass. Whatever had happened, Mycroft would probably need it. Somehow he knew that it was not a physical problem this time.

When he heard a car approaching, he ran to the window and saw Mycroft getting out of a cab. A cab? Since when did he use cabs? And what was that, a carton? A suspicion was daunting on him. Had he lost his job? Had he finally exploded and told the PM to kiss his arse?

Before Mycroft could unlock the door, he opened it up and shut it as soon as Mycroft had stepped in on heavy legs. His expression was stony, and he made no attempt to get rid of the strange carton or his umbrella. Sherlock took both out of his hands and put it on the side, and helped him out of his coat. So far neither of them had spoken a word, and Mycroft even ignored Lucky, who was running around him.

“Mycie, tell me what happened, please?” Sherlock finally said and gently laid a hand on his lover's cheek, and then he could see Mycroft's expression crumble. Tears were flooding his eyes and he tumbled, and Sherlock embraced him, feeling more shocked than he had been in all his life. He had made Mycroft cry once, and he had cried on that bloody day in Edinburgh when Sherlock had been hurt, but he knew that this was even more serious - something had torn Mycroft's world apart. “I have you, Mycie, come on, come with me.” He guided Mycroft to the living room and pulled him onto the couch, holding him tight. Lucky jumped up and stared at Mycroft with big, concerned eyes.

Mycroft didn’t make an attempt to talk, he simply couldn’t as he was crying so hard, soaking Sherlock's shirt, and he clung to him like a man who was about to drown.

Sherlock didn't ask him again what had happened, instead he whispered words of love and care and stroked his hair and his back, kissed his cheek and temple and just held him close, showing him with more than words how much he meant to him. His thoughts went on running wild while he was trying to comfort the love of his life. Whatever had happened to make him feel so desperate? And what could he do to make it better? And who was responsible for it?

Eventually the sobs got quieter and Mycroft seemed to regain a bit of his self-control. “Sorry,” he whispered, and Sherlock kissed his temple again.

“There's nothing to be sorry for. But please, tell me what's wrong with you. It can't be so bad that we won't get it sorted.”

“It is, Sherlock.” He took a deep breath and sat back against the back of the couch. “When I arrived at work, I was told to come into a meeting room. They were all there, the PM, Lady Smallwood and Sir Edwin.” He stopped, but Sherlock didn't say anything but nodded encouragingly. “They showed me a bank account statement. There was a payment of half a million pounds yesterday.”

“So they've found this bloody traitor! Who is it?”

Mycroft didn't answer but just looked at him, his bottom lip trembling again, and it hit Sherlock like a blow with a baseball bat. “No! No, that can't have happened!”

“They think it's me, Sherlock,” Mycroft confirmed his suspicion hoarsely. “It was my account. Someone transferred all this money to it, from an anonymous account, and they believe that I betrayed my country and let all these people die.”

Sherlock vehemently shook his head. “No, not even the PM can be so stupid, not even Smallwood can be so resentful! They must be out of their minds!”

“Until they've found more evidence against me, I'm just suspended from work.”

“What do you mean with them finding evidence? There can't be any evidence!”

“But the money is there, Sherlock. Who knows what else can be found then.” Mycroft sounded hopeless, and it was breaking Sherlock's heart.

“I'll go there and shoot them, every single one of them.” He meant it completely seriously.

“You don't even have a gun.”

“I'll borrow John's.”

“I'm afraid he won't give it to you anymore after what happened last time.” It was meant as the attempt to make a joke, but then his eyes were filling with tears again. “What shall I do, Sherlock? They will send me to prison for the death of the agents and the hostages and for high treason. I'll never see the sun again.”

“We'll go away. Right now.”

“No, I can't do that, Sherlock. I would look even guiltier then.”

Sherlock tried to store his wrath and the shock in the back of his head and start thinking clearly. “They will find out where the money came from, Mycie, they will catch the one who sent it to you, and it has to be either the traitor himself or the one who paid him. And then they'll know that you are innocent.”

“But it was a number account with a bank on the Cayman Islands that doesn't give information about their clients. They may never find him. Of course, then they won't be able to prove my guilt, but they will still believe I did it, and God knows what they will do then.”

Sherlock felt as cold as ice. They would kill Mycroft. But first they had to kill him because he would protect his man with all he had… But then an idea almost literally hit him. “Fuck, I'm so stupid! Oscar!”

Mycroft looked at him for a moment, then he nodded. “Yes, of course. This new program.”

Sherlock was already on his phone. He didn't bother using his usual one but typed Oscar's number in the one reserved for Mycroft.

_ “Renner,” _ Oscar said after two seconds.

“It's me, Sherlock.”

_ “Hi, you got a new number?” _

“Not quite. But listen, Oscar. You said you would help us if we needed you.”

_ “Sure. Just go ahead.” _

“This new program of yours, you know which one, is it working?”

_ “Of course it is. The Chinese are very happy about it.” _

“But you can still use it yourself?”

_ “Well, sure! What do you need?” _

“Can we come over now? Can you start it?”

_ “I'm already doing that. When you come here, it will be ready.” _

“Thank you, Oscar. See you in five minutes.” He stood up, pulling his man with him. “He will help us, let's go there. Lucky, time for meeting your best friends!”

On their way out, Mycroft spotted the glass with the scotch, and emptied it in one go. Sherlock couldn't blame him…

*****

Oscar constantly shook his head while Sherlock was explaining to him what had happened and what they needed to find out. But it wasn't a sign of not being able to help them but just the refusal to believe how anyone could consider that Mycroft had betrayed the country that he had dedicated his life to for the past fifteen years. Sherlock had placed Mycroft on Oscar's couch, and he was surrounded by three cuddle-addicted dogs; Lucky was lying on his lap, and Billy and Bobby were seated on either side of him, licking his throat.

“Okay,” Oscar said with a nod when Sherlock was finished. “We already know which bank authorized the payment so I will hack into their site. Then I will find out who opened this account. Even if it is a number account, there had to be some sort of identification. These banks never give away any information about the account holders so he must have felt safe to do it under his real name. And even if not, I will find it out in the end. But I can't say how long it will take. Perhaps only half an hour, perhaps a couple of hours. But at the end of the day we will know who it is. If we are lucky…,” he smiled at the dog that had lifted its head, “…it was the traitor himself. Then we know who he is and then I will dig in his life, his phone contacts, and in- and outgoing payments of any account he is linked to, just everything. We will prove his guilt. If the money came from the people on the other side, it will be more difficult and take longer of course. But in any way, I will find him.”

He gave Mycroft an assuring look, earning a careful smile from the older Holmes brother, and Sherlock felt as grateful as never before in his life. It meant even more to him than the fact that Oscar had saved his life. “That sounds awesome, Oscar. I can't thank you enough for your help.”

“Ah, it's my pleasure. I wish I could see their faces when you present them the real fuck-head, Mycroft. It will be waterproof in the end. Alright, let me get it started. Hey Sherlock, why don't you order some lunch for us in the meantime?”

Sherlock happily obeyed and half an hour later they were all sitting at the table in Oscar's living room and ate some pasta. Neither Mycroft nor Sherlock were overly hungry, but both of them forced themselves to eat. From time to time Oscar had a look at his laptop, but the program was still running. “The connection is a bit slow today,” Oscar said apologetically.

Sherlock nodded. Despite Oscar's optimism, he was feeling more and more tense. What if the program didn’t work? What if the traitor had hidden his traces so well that even this genius of a hacker couldn’t identify him? What if…? He shook his head and collected the plates to bring them into the kitchen.

Oscar followed him with the garbage. “Listen, Sherlock - if everything fails, which I totally doubt by the way, I can help you get new identities. It will take me two days maybe, and then you can fly wherever you want, and they will never find you.”

Sherlock smiled sadly. “He won't do that, Oscar. He thinks that this would prove his guilt in their eyes, and it would. And we are dealing with the Secret Intelligence Service. I'm not so sure that they couldn't find us. And depending on what this bastard did, Mycie might be imprisoned before the two days are over.”

“But I…” Oscar was interrupted by a loud  _ ping _ . “The program has found something!” He beamed at Sherlock. “Let's see what we have!”

All three of them hovered around the laptop while Oscar's fingers were flying over the keyboard. Even Lucky, safe on Mycroft's arm, was staring at the display.

“Alright, let's see, here's the name. Albert Scott, does that ring a bell?”

Sherlock stared at Mycroft with a wide opened mouth, and his expression was matched. “This fucking, silly dwarf is the superbrain-traitor?” Sherlock hissed while Mycroft was shaking his head disbelievingly. Then he kissed Mycroft fiercely, almost crushing the excited dog between them. “Sorry, Lucky.” Then he turned around and kissed Oscar as well. “Thank you, thank you,  _ thank _ you!”

A moment later Oscar was kissed a second time, soundly and wholeheartedly, by a stunned-looking Mycroft. The hacker laughed. “This is awesome! Now, let me get back to work. In two hours we'll know every fucking detail about this arsehole's life. And then you can go to the PM with all the proof that is needed and smash the papers on his head!”

*****

Mycroft left the second cab on this day four hours later right in front of the  _ Cabinet Office _ building. In his hand he was holding a briefcase full of copies. If anyone had asked him how he was feeling now, he couldn't have given an answer. His life had been turned upside down since this morning, and now he was holding the key for turning it again in his hands. He took a deep breath and called Anthea's number with Sherlock's phone. She answered in a second.

_ “Hello?” _ She sounded frightened, and Mycroft understood that she was afraid to receive a phone call from Sherlock, telling her that he, Mycroft, had had a heart attack or worse.

“It's me, Anthea,” he said. “I'm standing in front of the building. I suppose they won't let me in, so could you come out and convince them to open the door for me?” He knew that Anthea must have been given orders to deny such a request, but it didn't surprise him when she answered:

_ “I'm on my way, sir.” _

He didn't have to wait long. Anthea came to him and made wide eyes when she saw him smile. “Sir, what happened?”

“Can you let the PM and the others know that I wish to see them in fifteen minutes? In the meeting room from this morning?” he asked her while they were entering 70 Whitehall together. The security guy, who knew Mycroft for many years, opened his mouth to say something, but he shut up when he saw Anthea's look.

“I bet he's already calling Mr Scott,” she said with a nod in the guy's direction when they passed by the entrance, both using Anthea's key card.

Mycroft smiled. “Excellent.”

She gave him a confused look. “Alright, can I attend this meeting?”

“Oh, I insist on it!” Mycroft said.

Anthea was on the phone already when they were walking into his office. Or the room that had used to be his office for the past years. He had not expected to see it again so soon.

Anthea seemed to have to deal with harsh protests, considering her sharp voice. It took her five minutes to finish her calls. Finally she put the phone away. “They are on their way, sir.”

“Fine. Let's go to  _ Victoria _ then.” On their way there he gave her a summary of what Oscar had found out, and he watched her expression change from confusion over disbelief to pure joy and in the end simple amazement.

He was sitting on the same chair that he had used in the morning when they entered the room; Sir Edwin was the first, then Lady Smallwood and finally the PM, accompanied this time by his PA. Mycroft gave each of them an indifferent smile and earned looks that were speaking of confusion and exasperation.

“Mr Holmes, I didn't expect you to show up here, let alone today. I see your PA has ignored the order to not let you in this building again without being invited.” The PM looked pointedly at Anthea, clearly indicating that this insubordination would not go unpunished.

“I'm sure that you might reconsider any resentment against Miss Hunter very soon,” Mycroft retorted. He opened the briefcase and took out several big piles of paper. Of course he could have prepared a PowerPoint presentation, but he had wanted to get it over with as fast as possible, plus it would be funnier. “I would be delighted if you had a look at that. I made three copies.” He handed the files to the PM and his two former colleagues. He saw Albert Scott shifting his weight on his chair. He looked a little frightened.

Mycroft was surprised that all three of them started reading without any protests. He focused his attention on the PM, who was staring at the front page with narrowed eyes. “Mr Holmes, if that’s a joke…” He glared at Mycroft, but he just smiled.

“Just go on reading, please. You might find the information very interesting and convincing.”

He leaned back in his chair and listened to the sound of pages being hastily turned, and he moved his head to look in Scott's eyes. When the young man returned the look, he smiled calmly even though everything in him was screaming for putting his hands around the man's neck and strangling the life out of him. This man was guilty of the killing of a dozen MI6 agents and seven innocent hostages; he had betrayed their country and finally put the blame on him. Why had he done that? Was it because Sherlock had choked him when he had shown up in front of Mycroft's house? Had it been the demonstration of power that Mycroft himself had given him? Did he just hate Mycroft? He was quite sure that he'd never find out. He rather wondered what the PM would do. Accept the guilt of his confidant? Or accuse Mycroft of having faked the proof? Not that this would have been possible. The many phone conversations from Scott's number with destinations in Russia, South Africa and Uzbekistan and now Ukraine, the countries in which the missions had failed, were speaking for themselves. The four million pounds on this number account, without a doubt having been opened by Scott himself, coming from well-known people in these countries at different dates, did the same.

When the PM looked up from his lecture, his face was white. Very slowly he turned his head to his PA. “How could you?” he asked so hoarsely that his voice was almost inaudible, and three things happened within seconds. A weight of the size of an elephant fell from Mycroft's soul, Albert Scott jumped from his chair and ran to the door, and Anthea, who had been sitting on a chair next to said door, stood up and welcomed him with a punch to his chin that made him fall back like a sack of flour, and he lay on his back unconsciously.

In the next moment, three people were talking at once.

The PM: “I'm so sorry, Mr Holmes, however can you forgive me? You have your position back of course.”

Sir Edwin: “I knew that you were innocent from the start!”

Lady Smallwood: “Oh Mycroft, I can't believe that I doubted you!”

And Mycroft allowed himself to smile for a second before he narrowed his eyes.

*****

Sherlock threw the ball again and watched Lucky running after it. “Good boy!” he said when the dog brought it back, and he immediately let him go after it again. “I wonder what takes him so long to call me!”

He was alone with Lucky, waiting in Mycroft's house for a message whether the PM had accepted the overwhelming evidence for Scott's guilt or not. Of course, Mycroft would not be able to tell him where he got all the information from, but it was very clear that nothing of it could have been faked, so the man just had to believe in it. He would apologise to Mycroft on his knees and give him his job back. Sherlock would never forgive him for ever doubting Mycroft's integrity though. After all the sacrifices that he had brought for his country over the years, the people who had known him for so long just had to know that he would never do such treacherous things, no matter how much money he'd receive for it.

“Well, let's feed you, boy,” he said to the dog. He went to the kitchen and opened a can of dogfood. He watched Lucky eat it with a smile, and then he startled when he heard a key in the door. Oh dear, no. Mycroft was back, and that could only mean they had not believed it. Or did they just let him go home early to make up for the trouble and hurt they had caused him today? He almost ran to the front door.

“Oh, there you are, come here!” Mycroft said with a wide grin and Sherlock threw himself into his arms and kissed him passionately.

Then he pulled back, looking at his lover whose face was looking healthier and happier than it had in weeks. “They believed you!”

“Oh yes, of course. Oscar's evidence was more than convincing. Of course they wanted to know who provided me with it. They would love to have him work for them.”

Sherlock chuckled. “I can imagine. But somehow I don't think Oscar would approve of that.”

“No, he certainly wouldn't. I texted him and told him what happened by the way; he seemed to be delighted. Hey, there's my other pretty boy!” Mycroft bent down and took Lucky on his arm. “Oh, your breath! You just ate?”

Sherlock smiled. “He did. Come on, that calls for champagne.” He knew that Mycroft should refrain from drinking too much, but this day definitely screamed for making an exception. One glass would certainly do no harm to his heart if this horrible day had not done it…

“I agree!” They went into the living room and Sherlock opened the cold bottle and filled their glasses, while Mycroft took off his jacket and threw it on a chair, followed by his vest.

Sherlock handed him a glass. “Cheers!”

“Mmm, that's good,” Mycroft stated and stroked Sherlock's face with his free hand. “But I think we should celebrate a little more later.”

“We surely will. But now tell me, what did they say? Did they beg your pardon? Did they kiss your feet?”

“Of course they did. Oh, you should have seen Scott's face when he was arrested. I wish I could have taken pictures.” His expression turned grim. “I hope that he will rot in prison. Of course they will handle the matter without involving the police and the public. But he will disappear behind bars for a very long time.”

“I really hope so! I would have loved to see his face when he realised that he blew up. And the face of the PM when he apologised to you… So did you forgive him right away or let him wait for some time?” He could imagine Mycroft looking at his boss with a stone-cold face, letting him sweat and feeling uncomfortable.

“Oh, I did have some fun. And then I told him that I don't want my job back.”

“Oh, cunning! I guess you will get a lot more money now. A great opportunity for having a salary negotiation!”

Mycroft smiled and put his glass on the table. Then he pulled Sherlock close. “No, baby, you don't understand. I said I don't want my job back.”

Sherlock felt all blood leaving his face. He almost dropped his glass and poured the rest of the champagne over his lap. He didn't pay any attention to it and let Mycroft take the empty glass out of his hand without breaking their eye contact for a single second. “What are you saying?” he whispered.

“I won't work there anymore, Sherlock. I will receive a very generous last payment and not set a foot in this building again. Anthea will do the same sometime soon; I will make sure that she gets the best possible references, and she will find a certainly less stressful job very shortly. I did negotiate for her to receive a huge pay cheque as well.”

Sherlock's head was spinning. “But...”

Mycroft sent him a concerned look. “Sherlock, you are a rich man thanks to Tony. I know you haven't even touched this money yet so neither of us will have to work ever again. Or… do you have a problem with me being an independent gentleman? Are you afraid you can't bear having me around all the time?”

“What? No! That would be heaven for me! But I thought you couldn't live without your job!” And what would everybody else think then? Wouldn't it cause even more suspicion? He had told Mycroft the evening before about Martha's suggestion to give up his flat in Baker Street after John had stopped paying his part of the rent. So in fact they would be living together in Mycroft's house and neither of them would work anymore. Wouldn't it appear as if Mycroft had indeed been paid for something dubious? While it was Sherlock who actually had been… Not to mention how it would look if they spent all day together in this house… And how long would Mycroft be able to endure that before he would get crazy?

“I do believe that I can, honey,” Mycroft said with a smile. “The only thing I can't live without is you. And Lucky of course. Sherlock, I know what you are thinking. And it would definitely raise eyebrows. So actually there's only one big question to clarify: are you ready to die with me?”

For the first seconds Sherlock believed that the events of this awful day had fucked with Mycroft's mind. But then the realisation hit him so hard that he felt like passing out. “You mean, you want to go away with me? Let everybody believe that we are dead and start over new somewhere else? Oh please, don't joke about that.” His heart was hammering in his chest.

Mycroft kissed him gently on the lips. “I would never do that. While we were waiting for Oscar's program to come up with the results, I couldn’t think of anything else than that. What happened this morning made me realise how stupid I have been to cling to something that has caused me, and you, only pain over the past weeks. This betrayal on me by people who should have known it better was what I needed to finally get it. I can't even describe how much it hurt me to be treated like this, after all I've done for this country. And then I came home to you, in your arms, to your trust and your care, and I realised that this was all that mattered. But I wouldn't have dared suggest going away if I had not been cleared from the suspicions as they would have sent agents to find us, and probably neither of us would have survived if they had succeeded. But now I don't work for the government anymore. We better wait some time to make sure that nobody is interested in what I'm doing. But we need time anyway to organise everything, find out where we want to go, getting everything we need for that, deceiving everybody who has to be deceived. But in the end I want to be somewhere with you where we can live together as a couple, where nobody knows that we are brothers, with new names and a whole new life story.” Lucky yapped and he smiled. “Oh, don't you worry, we won't go anywhere without you.”

Sherlock was still silent, not being able to process that he had just heard the words he had longed to hear for months now, words he had never expected to be spoken. It was like yet another shock on a day full of shocking developments.

Mycroft smiled a little wryly. “You look a bit overwhelmed right now. You don't have to decide right now if you really want to do that, Sherlock. I…”

This made Sherlock get his senses back. “Of course I want it. My God, how much I want that!” He slung his arms around Mycroft's neck and crawled onto his lap, and tears were running down his cheeks, and then Mycroft pulled him with him when he was letting himself sink into the cushions, and Sherlock proceeded to kiss the living hell out of him. He knew that there was so much to talk about, so much to think about, but for now, all he wanted was  _ feel. _

*****

With every meeting of their tongues, with every tender stroke from Sherlock's hands, with every soft moan from Sherlock's mouth whenever Mycroft's tongue licked into it, he could feel the exhaustion and the shadows of the tense and the fear and the sheer disappointment of this day vanish a bit more. They did nothing else than kissing and touching each other's face and back for at least twenty minutes, and with every minute he was feeling more relaxed and happy and grateful.

There had been a moment right after he had told Sherlock about his decision when he had feared that Sherlock might not love him as much as before anymore when he had learned that he had given up all his power, that he wasn't the British Government - as Sherlock had always called him - anymore. He was just a man, his lover, stripped off all his influence and the respect he had experienced for more than a dozen years.

But he had realised very soon that the shock that had been written on Sherlock's face was the shock about completely unexpectedly receiving what he had wished most for from the moment they had gotten together, the one thing he had thought he would never get from Mycroft. And he had felt deeply ashamed for a moment that he had not done it earlier, that it had needed a betrayal from massive dimensions to show him what was really most important in his life, what was the real reason for getting up in the morning and dealing with every challenge. And that was Sherlock's unconditional, selfless love for him, that he returned deeply.

He had no idea what they would do with the rest of their lives, where they would go, and how they would feel about leaving everything and everybody behind. But he did know that they would be together, whatever they would decide to do. He was sure that Oscar would help them with getting new identities as Mycroft didn't have any access to such instruments anymore, and he didn't want to ask Anthea for it. Anthea would stay in the agency until everything was sorted in case they would need her help to fake their deaths and leave the country. Because that was the only way. The people that were not in knowledge of their secret had to be deceived, they had to believe that they were dead. He knew that it would cause pain and sadness, and he didn't like that, but they simply didn’t have a choice.

He had told the PM that he didn't see any future in working with people who had believed in his guilt, people who had not even really listened to him, who had judged him upon a more than dubious piece of evidence. They had proven that they didn't trust him, and therefore he couldn't trust them anymore. Besides, he had explained, his heart had started hurting because of the events of this day, and so he had to draw the conclusion that his health didn't allow him to endure the requirements of his position anymore. The expression of guilt and shame on the PM's face had been a very satisfying sight. Mycroft had told him all that with a voice full of disappointment and disgust, and well, he didn't really have to make that up. In any way, it would not surprise the PM if he drowned in depression and perhaps took his own life. And they would tell this story to everybody else who was needed to be misguided. It was close enough to the truth, they'd only leave out some delicate details. But he didn't know if he would really fake his suicide or perhaps pretend to suffer a heart attack or even get killed. And he would have to discuss with Sherlock about his way of  _ dying _ . John Watson had to be deceived again in the end, so it had better be believable. In any way, it was very good that Sherlock was on better terms with Molly Hooper now…

While he had been thinking about all this, their tender kissing had continued, and now Sherlock was opening the buttons of his shirt. Mycroft reached for his tie, but then he changed his mind. “Let's go to the bedroom, Sherlock, I'd love to be more comfortable with you.”

Sherlock smiled at him. “Alright, but what if you just stop thinking for a while. We'll have to think it through and find the best solution, but we don't have to do that now. Now I want your body and your soul, not your brain.”

Mycroft grinned. “I guess my brain will not be sought after at all anymore now.”

“I doubt that, Mycie.” Sherlock got on his feet and pulled him up. “You won't be able to not do anything anymore, no matter how rich we are.”

“And what about you? You'll have to stop being the clever detective.”

They left the living room and quickly walked to the stairs. “Oh, that will be so tough. Not. But for the next three hours, we won't talk about that.”

“And whatever do you want to do in these three hours then?” Mycroft teased him.

“Fuck you and get fucked by you,” was the laconic reply.

“Three hours? Don't you think that this is a bit too optimistic?” He opened the door of his bedroom.

“No.”

Mycroft laughed out loud and stripped off his shoes. Then he finally got rid of his tie.

“You won't need to wear ties anymore,” Sherlock said. He still sounded as if he couldn't believe his luck.

“No, I won't. From now on there will be only clumsy, old jog pants and the same t-shirt every day for me.”

Sherlock was naked already and visibly aroused, and he pushed Mycroft on the bed and fumbled with his belt. “If you want to shock me, you'll need more than this.”

Mycroft decided to lie still and let Sherlock do the work of undressing him. “I won't wash or cut my hair anymore and I'll also never shower again.”

“Well, then I'll shave the rest of your hair and lick you clean,” Sherlock retorted while he was opening his zipper.

“Of course I won't shave anymore and the leftovers of my lunch will glue to my beard.”

“Then I'll always have something to eat when I wake up at night and feel a little hungry.” Sherlock freed him from his trousers, revealing his hard cock.

“I'll let my finger- and toenails grow until I can't wear shoes anymore or grab anything,” Mycroft threatened.

“I'll just nibble them off then. And what do you need shoes for? You will stay in the bedroom all day anyway so I can fuck you senseless every full hour.” Sherlock stripped his socks off.

“But I guess you won't want to kiss me because of course I will also not brush my teeth ever again.”

“I'll ask your dentist over so he can pull them out completely. Might be helpful in some more ways actually.” Sherlock fumbled his shirt from his body.

Now they were both completely naked, and Sherlock lay on the bed next to him, pulling him close. “I would love you even then, as I love you now that you are not the British Government anymore. I don't want your power, I want you.”

“Oh darling, you just know me too well. But be honest, did it not turn you on the tiniest bit that I was in this position? Powerful, feared, the Iceman, that sort of thing?”

Sherlock started kissing and licking his neck. “Your position came in handy for me a few times which we both know. And I have to admit I love you in your fancy suits, I love to wrap you out of them like the best Christmas present on earth. And yes, I love the authority you are oozing. But you will always do that, important job or not. It's just a part of your personality. It doesn't stop existing only because you quit. But please, let's not talk anymore now.”

Mycroft cupped his face with both hands and kissed him. “Alright, but two things before I'll shut up for the next three hours.”

“You don't have to shut up completely,” Sherlock said. “You may moan and mumble my name and tell me to suck or fuck you harder. But go on.”

“What did I want to say?” They both chuckled, but then Mycroft grew serious again. “I wanted to explain why I didn't tell you what I was about to do before I went there.”

Sherlock smiled. “I know it already. You were not sure if you would have the courage to really do it. And the PM could have reacted completely differently. So either way you didn't want to make me wrong hopes.”

“Yes. I'm sorry, Sherlock. Sorry that you had to wait so long for me to make this decision. It was overdue.”

“Don't worry, Mycie. It was a process you had to experience so you realised that it's what you need to do. Not for our relationship but for yourself. I wouldn't have wanted you to leave it all behind just for me. I would have been too afraid that you would stop loving me eventually because you would blame me for not having the life anymore that you were used to have.”

“Which brings me directly to point number two. Sherlock, whatever will happen, whatever we'll decide - I want you to know that I will love you forever. Nobody will take this away from us. We’ll find the best way to organise everything and it might take us some time, but in the end it will be you and me forever. Do you agree on that? Do you really want to spend the rest of your life with me?”

“Oh Mycie!”

He closed his eyes while Sherlock was apparently trying to crawl under his skin, and he thought he might be allowed to take this reaction as a definite  _ yes _ . And then, indeed for the next three hours, the only words that were spoken were their names, begs for being touched in certain ways (which was usually immediately done) and confessions of love, and they showed this love to each other by strokes and pulls and licks and sucks and deep thrusts. In the resting periods, they continued kissing and touching before they started all over again until they both collapsed from the sweetest possible exhaustion, and as they fell asleep with legs and arms entwined, Mycroft thought that this was, as clichéd as it sounded, really the first day of the rest of their lives.


	35. Chapter 35

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some "nice" smut and even nicer fluff!

“Shit!” Sherlock's loud, deep voice echoed through the corridor when the huge box slipped out of his arms and crashed on the floor. He got down on his knees and grabbed for the files that had fallen out.

“Hi Sherlock! Let me help you.” Greg Lestrade had come out of his office and bent down to collect some of the thick folders.

“Thanks. I wonder how many cold cases they will burden on me. But actually I'm thankful for it. It's the only thing that my brother is at least slightly interested in at the moment.”

When the files had all been stored in the box again, they straightened up. “Come in for a moment, Sherlock, if you are not too busy,” the DI suggested.

“Okay. But not for long, I don't want to upset him even more.”

Sherlock followed Lestrade into his office and put the carton on the ground. They sat down opposite of each other, and Lestrade offered him a cup of tea, which Sherlock accepted gratefully.

“So he's still not feeling better?”

“No, not in the least. In the beginning I was rather optimistic that he could cope with the way he lost his job but now… He hardly gets out of his bed anymore, he doesn't want to see anyone, and sometimes he doesn't talk to me for days. When he does anything more than staring at the ceiling, he ponders about the cold cases but then he refuses to talk to Schuyler about them. I have to make out his awful handwriting and explain the solution to your colleague. And don't get me started on his paranoid fears…”

“I know Larry Schuyler is very grateful for your and Mycroft's help. But your brother only had to say a word, and my bosses would offer him a contract as an external specialist or whatever, he would be so valuable for us.”

“He doesn't want to have anything to do with any government organisation anymore, not officially. He helps me with the cold cases, it distracts him a bit from his misery, and he can keep a better eye on me. I'm glad Schuyler allows me to bring them to his house at all.”

“I told him that both of the Holmes brothers are completely trustworthy. Still can't believe what his bosses did to him. How could they even consider him to be a traitor?” Greg shook his head, his big, dark eyes narrowed.

Sherlock was touched by the indignation in his voice. He could feel his lips tighten at the memory of Mycroft, crying and being hurt. “I don't know, I will never understand it. They made the biggest mistake of their lives by believing that. Their loss… And it's even worse how scared he is now.”

“You know, I wish I could send some of my men to watch over his house, but as there is no explicit threat, I can't justify it.”

“Never mind. I still think he's just paranoid.”

“But there could be people after him now that he's not in his powerful position anymore. And it makes sense that they could also be a danger for you.” Sherlock had told him what had happened under the pledge of secrecy, leaving Oscar's name out of course.

“It's not that his name had ever been mentioned in the newspapers; he was always just the grey eminence that nobody knew about. And the real danger came from within the government…”

“So this Scott guy is not facing an official trial for murder and high treason now?”

“No. Things were handled internally, but he will never get out of prison in his life. There will be no public trial and the relatives of the victims were told that they should keep their mouths shut, but he got what he deserved.” Actually in his opinion, the man had not gotten it. What he really deserved was a bullet hole in his head…

Before Greg could start speaking again, his phone rang. With an excusing look, the DI answered it. “Lestrade? Oh, hello Mr Holmes! Well, he's here with me, don't you worry. He doesn't answer your calls and texts? Perhaps his phone is not working here. Yes, he will be at home shortly.” He ended the call. “Man, he really doesn't sound good.”

Sherlock sighed. “My phone is off because I hate to be controlled by him. It's bad enough that he insisted on me moving in with him. So neither of us still earns money, except for your payments for solving the cold cases, as he thinks it's too dangerous for me spending the days, let alone the nights in Baker Street anymore. I might as well give up the flat if things don't change soon.” He stood up. “I should better go to him now before he starts hyperventilating. At least I got new files for him to keep him occupied when his brain screams for work. Thank you for listening, Greg. See you soon.”

“Goodbye, Sherlock, and I think it's great that you take care of your brother. I hope that he will be doing better soon.”

“Yes, me too,” Sherlock mumbled and after lifting up the box, he left the Yard.

*****

When Sherlock opened the door and more or less threw the box on the floor, he was welcomed by an overly excited, little dog who seemed to be determined to run up his legs. And when he saw Mycroft coming into the hallway, his heart almost stopped. It had always jumped at the sight of his lover, but the change he had gone through during the last month, made it almost impossible for Sherlock to breath.

He smiled at Sherlock brightly and pure happiness was oozing from him. His beautiful pale-blue eyes were sparkling, and he looked ten years younger than a month ago. Moderate daily training sessions in the gym and a lot less moderate and more than daily sex marathons were not only keeping his heart healthy, they had hardened his muscles and shaped his already slim figure. He was devastatingly handsome and Sherlock wanted to fuck him right here and there. It had not really been a lie to tell Lestrade that Mycroft had a hard time getting out of bed. Sherlock just didn’t let him for large parts of the day… and he was quite sure that Mycroft didn't mind that at all.

He slammed the door shut and was clinging to Mycroft's neck after two long steps. “Hi, baby. God, you smell so good.” He kissed him soundly.

“New body wash. Blueberry. I just got out of the shower when you texted me to call Lestrade.”

“He's buying it completely. I almost feel bad to make him worry about you.”

“Almost.” Mycroft grinned.

“Yes, well. It's for a higher purpose.”

Sherlock dragged him to the living room. He would have preferred the bedroom but it would take too much time.

“Sherlock, wait,” Mycroft said with a laugh when he proceeded to free him of his jog pants. Mycroft didn't wear his suits anymore; he hardly left the house to hold up the ruse they had agreed on. They only went to the park sometimes, but the weather had become cold and wet and simply ugly, so there was no point in staying there for long or dressing up like the gentleman he would always be, politician or not. Sherlock took care of their grocery shopping, very often together with Oscar, or they just ordered stuff they needed, and except for shared long jogging rounds in the late evening, Mycroft stayed at home. And he apparently didn't mind that at all. He seemed to love being free of all the obligations he had burdened on himself for so many years, loved being able to read and relax and take care of himself as well as of Sherlock's well-being and their increasingly exciting love life. But he was not lazy. In addition to solving the cold cases with Sherlock, he was busy organising their new life.

“Tony called a couple of minutes ago. The other house is ready, too.”

“Great! So when will we do it?”

“He said he can be here on the 15 th and he wants to make sure that everything is done perfectly. Around the 20 th I guess. And then we will have to wait until your beard has grown enough to do the new picture so Oscar can make the rest of the documents, but in early December we will be in Brazil.”

“My God…” Sherlock still couldn’t believe it would really happen. A small part of him still feared that Mycroft would give into the ongoing begging of the PM to return to his position. Apparently he and Mycroft's former colleagues had realised their stupid mistake, and Mycroft's expertise and his super-computer brain were severely missed. The PM had offered him a much higher salary than he had already received, and he seemed determined to not give up so easily. Whenever Mycroft's landline was ringing (of course he had not given his new mobile number to anybody except Anthea and Lestrade), both of them sighed and let the answerphone do its job.

“Sherlock, no need for doubts,” Mycroft whispered and rubbed his cheek with his long nose. “We will do exactly what we have planned. It will just take a little more time and then we will be away for good.”

Sherlock had fantasized about their future so many times since they had decided to move to Brazil. Accompanied by Oscar and of course all three dogs. They would move into a big house almost directly near the ocean, living in two separate flats. Mycroft and Sherlock would change their identities from being two brothers to being a legally married couple. Brazil was not the safest place on earth for homosexual men, despite the fact that gay marriage was possible there. But they would not suffer from violence as in exchange for their help (and of course because he owed Sherlock a lot and also liked him), Tony would make sure that they would live in a totally safe environment. While they would not officially be a part of his not-really-official organisation, they would invest a lot of time in supporting his goals, working on strategies for fighting poaching and animal abuse in general.

Tony had been completely excited when Sherlock had asked him if he could imagine helping them start over new in his country and work together with him in certain ways. Sherlock knew that no matter how Mycroft loved his new freedom, he would eventually need a task he could work on, and it had to be something important and something he would really be interested in. Sherlock had been a little hesitant to suggest Mycroft to go to Brazil at first as he knew that Mycroft was a little jealous of Tony - not that he had a reason for it. But Mycroft had said that he had already thought about it as well.

As much as they would help Tony, they would do it completely low-key. It would be very ironic if they fled to Brazil with false (if very convincing) identities to cover breaking the law with their incestuous relationship and then end up in prison there because of belonging to an organisation that was taking the law in its own hands, for whatever good purpose. Also, there was no way that he would let Mycroft work at an equally fast pace as he had done for much too long in England. He had issues with his heart in the end and needed to take care of himself above all. And there was also no chance that the former British Government would directly participate in killing people, no matter how much they deserved it. Tony had been completely content with this decision, and Sherlock was sure that they were not going to have a problem with him. He wasn't sure if he would do some sort of detective work there eventually, but he was very happy to see what their new life would bring. But in no way he would ever do anything that might endanger their new identities. They would dedicate their life to their love in the first place. Being together was the reason for going away, for letting the world believe that they were dead.

Sherlock had gone to Martha the day after Mycroft had quit his job. After one look in his eyes, she had known that he would do what he had wanted so badly. She had cried tears of joy about him finally being happy, and tears about losing him forever. Martha would be needed for their ruse in a less challenging way than Anthea or Molly, but she would have to be convincingly sad about their apparent deaths. Since they would never see her again, that wouldn't be too difficult for her.

When they had worked out their plans for faking first Sherlock's and then Mycroft's death, they had spoken with Anthea and Molly and of course Oscar. They would need the help of all of them to get everything sorted believably, and they had received wide-eyed looks from each of them, but they had all guaranteed them their complete support.

Oscar would be the most important participant in their complot, and he was using his skills to organise all he already could, and he did it with pleasure. His abilities were essential for their plan, and Sherlock was absolutely convinced that he would do a perfect job. Oscar had said at once that he would leave everything behind him as well and go with them if they were okay with that, which they were of course. The hacker had started helping Tony already from his living room as he had told Sherlock a while ago, and he was more than happy to do it in Brazil as well. He had given up hope to ever reconcile with his son, so there was nothing that kept him in England. There was no reason for him to take on a new name; he would just go away as himself. Besides helping Tony, he would also continue his hacking work for customers all over the world.

But that was still in the future, and Sherlock was determined to have a really good time before their plans would be set in motion. So he let his hands slide under Mycroft's wide sweatshirt now, searching for his nipples in the thicket of chest hair. When he let his thumbs play with them, Mycroft moaned quietly in his ear.

“You like that, Mark?” he teased him.

Mycroft chuckled. “Yes, Steve, very much so.”

Thanks to the tattoo, they would have to keep their first initial for safety reasons. Oscar had asked them which names they would like to take on, and Sherlock had told him that they would have to begin with an  _ M _ and an  _ S _ , besides that, they didn't have real preferences. The names should only be rather common for a change. So Oscar had searched online for people who had died at a very young age, whose first names had begun with these letters, and who had been born in years that were nearly matching their birth years. After that he had ordered copies of the birth certificates. He had manipulated the files, so poor Mark and Steve had not died officially, and he was on the task of building them a false past, with school certificates, employers' references and, most important, a marriage certificate. Nobody knew how much of this stuff they would really need in their future lives, but Sherlock agreed with Oscar that their personas should be complete. Only the birth certificates should be original as they were the basis of their new identities. Mycroft would go as Mark Gorman, being three years younger than he was in reality, and Sherlock's birth name would be Steven Miller, but he would have taken on the name Gorman after their imaginary wedding so his identity card and driver's licence would bear the name Steven Gorman; he would call himself Steve. Oscar would complete his task as soon as they were able to do the passport photos.

“It will be nice to have a name that you don't have to spell for everybody,” Mycroft said with a smile while he was gazing at Sherlock's hands. The younger man had freed Mycroft from the annoying sweatshirt to have better access to his delicious body, and now he was letting his palms rub over the hairy skin.

“True,” Sherlock answered and licked over a hard nipple. “But we won't meet too many people who we'd have to spell our names for.”

“Are you sure that you won't miss that, Sherlock?” Mycroft gently touched the back of his head.

“You are seriously asking me - again as I may add - if I'm going to miss _people_?” Sherlock licked over the other nipple. “I'll have you, that's all I need. And if I'm in the mood for having other company, there will be still Oscar in spitting distance.”

“And sometimes Tony,” Mycroft added, but he winked.

“Yes. So why would I need other people? And I don't really have to ask you if you are going to miss them…”

Mycroft pulled on Sherlock's shirt. “No, certainly not. Except for Anthea.”

“Yes, there is a price to pay,” Sherlock agreed, thinking of Martha Hudson. He got rid of his shirt and threw it on the next chair. With an elegant movement he dropped on his knees, pulling Mycroft's pants down while he went. “Oh, look who's happy to see me!”

Mycroft laughed. “We will never get tired of each other, will we?”

Sherlock lapped over the red head of his almost entirely hard dick and let his tongue play with his frenulum. “No,” he said after receiving a lovely moan for his efforts. “I hope that the walls in our house will be really thick so Oscar won't hear us copulating all day and night.” He blew over the glistening knob.

“Thank God I'll be three years younger then,” Mycroft said dryly and Sherlock burst out laughing.

He got up and kissed him fiercely. “It will be like heaven, Mycie.”

“Oh yes, no doubt about it. You should have stayed on your knees though…”

But Sherlock had changed his mind of going at it right on the couch. “No, we'll go upstairs now. I feel like it's time for a 69.” He didn't want to fall off the sofa again like last time…

“Oh, do you?”

“Yes, very much so!”

Five minutes later they were on their bed, Sherlock lying comfortably on his back while Mycroft was kneeling over him. The sight of his huge hard-on, the blood-filled, heavy sack and his quivering hole were so exciting than Sherlock moaned even before Mycroft's soft lips closed around his own fully erect cock. He closed his eyes and bit his lip when he felt the wet tongue tangling around his leaking head, which was buried in the hot cave of Mycroft's mouth. He grabbed for Mycroft's member and let it slide into his mouth, taking it as deep as possible by bending his throat and managing to suck on it with verve. His hands moved away from the shaft to play with the hairy balls and to finger his hole. He put his right forefinger in his mouth to wet it, and then he proceeded to penetrate the wrinkled entrance. Mycroft's moan around his cock increased his excitement even more, and he tried to calm down as he did not plan to shoot his load so soon. He pulled his finger out and put it back in his mouth, along with the middle finger which was not that easy as the big penis still maintained its place between his teeth. The taste of Mycroft's most intimate spot on his tongue let him close his eyes in pleasure. He repeated his actions with the two fingers and finally he spat out the cock he had sucked on the entire time and urged Mycroft to sit down on his face. He let his right hand take care of Mycroft's erection as his mouth was occupied otherwise now. After a dozen licks with the flat tongue, he let the tip of it tangle around the inviting entrance, and eventually he pressed it into the hole while pulling it apart with both hands. They moaned simultaneously - Mycroft because it had to feel devilishly good to be licked inside like that, and Sherlock because of the infatuating taste and the grade of intimacy his naughty act provided.

Mycroft let his cock slide out of his mouth and turned to massage it roughly with his hand instead. “Will bite you if I go on,” he explained with a heavy tongue, and Sherlock grinned.

He grabbed Mycroft's hips harder and urged him to lean back and sit more comfortably, then he pulled on Mycroft's sack just the way he liked it, and rubbed his cock with circling movements. And he continued licking him out expertly.

“Shit, Sherlock, take me now, please.” Mycroft grabbed for the lube on the nightstand and put in on the pillow, and then he left his place on Sherlock's face, going on all fours. He was bending his back and lifting his pretty, round arse, and his cheeks were spread very widely so his hole was presented in all its inviting glory.

Sherlock opened the bottle without turning his eyes from it, almost literally drooling, and squeezed a meaningful amount into Mycroft's arse crack and then licked over it. “Mmm, it's blueberry day today,” he mumbled.

“Yes, but you shouldn't eat it but use it,” Mycroft urged him through gritted teeth.

“But I like the taste,” Sherlock teased him and licked over the crack again.

“I'll make you blueberry pancakes when we are finished. But now get your fucking cock in my arse!”

Sherlock laughed and straightened up, putting more lube on the waiting hole and his own dick. “Three nasty words in one sentence - Mycroft, Mycroft, I'm shocked.”

He heard Mycroft chuckle and whine at the same time and decided to not torture him any longer. After grabbing his waist, he let his wet dick slide inside the equally wet crack a couple of times (okay, he did torture him a few seconds longer), and then he pressed it against the muscle ring until it was sucked in with a  _ plop _ . Mycroft moaned loudly and Sherlock closed his eyes in pleasure, whispering his lover's name. He started with slow, careful thrusts, making sure to not hurt him. When Mycroft started rocking his arse backwards, he figured that it was time to increase the pace. While he was thrusting into him, he used his mind palace, imagining walking through the ice of the North Pole, trying to keep his excitement under control. Despite having his most sensitive body part buried deep in hot, tight heat, he could feel the ice under his feet and the frosty wind in his face, and he wondered if his nipples were getting hard from excitement or the imagined freezing coldness. But then Mycroft appeared in the frozen room, smiling and naked, playing with his hard dick, uninvited but inevitable and so welcome, and the arousal threatened to take over again.

Not willing to come so soon, he pulled his dick out, feeling that it had been the last moment.

“Fuck, Sherlock, don't stop,” Mycroft protested, and Sherlock hurried to lie down and pull him with him.

“Will go on in a second, but I want it to last longer.”

“Okay, but I think I'll come very soon.”

“Let's just cuddle for a moment,” Sherlock suggested, and then Mycroft captured his mouth in a rough, desperate kiss, putting his legs around Sherlock's waist. Automatically Sherlock grabbed his arse and let his middle finger slide into the slippery, sticky hole again. Their cocks were rubbing at each other, and Sherlock knew that their encounter would be over soon even if he walked through an imaginary snowstorm.

“We'll do it later again, honey, don't worry,” Mycroft said with a certain urge in his voice. “Finish us up now, come on.”

“Alright, love, turn around.”

Mycroft moved away from him and a moment later he pressed his arse against Sherlock's throbbing cock. He let it slide in again while holding Mycroft's thighs, and after a few slow strokes he started fucking him with abandon. Again he tried to retrieve into his mind palace, even conjuring up flickering, ghostly pictures of their parents and the PM, but it didn't really help; he only felt a stronger urge to love his man, to satisfy him and make him come as strong as possible. And only seconds after he had started thrusting with full power, Mycroft shot his load over the bed with a loud scream, and Sherlock knew that he would follow him very soon. Without thinking he pulled his dick out and got up, spreading one cheek apart and then he watched his sperm leave his body in strong, thick, white spurts all over Mycroft's hole and arse and back. He bent his head back in excitement, but as soon as the shudders of the orgasm had left him, his head was down and then he licked it all up, tasting the mixture of cum, musk and blueberry-flavoured lube. After cleaning his lover up, he let himself sack on the bed, embracing Mycroft's waist.

“So good,” Mycroft mumbled into the pillow.

“Yes,” he said weakly, his tongue wasn't really working, along with his brain. It took him a couple of seconds to get his senses back. “Get up now, boy, make me pancakes.”

“I just said that so you would finally fuck me,” Mycroft grumbled.

“No pancakes? Damn…”

“You've had enough blueberries now, and you will get more when we shower.”

“Don't want to get up, don't want to shower. Want pancakes.”

“We don't have eggs! And we don't have blueberries!”

Sherlock giggled on Mycroft's neck. “Oh, I love you. Even if you make false promises, I still love you.”

Mycroft turned around to face him and cupped his cheek tenderly. “I love you, too, Sherlock, even if you let me wait for your cock. And now I'll call Oscar and ask him if he can bring us some eggs and blueberries…”

“Nah,” Sherlock said with a grin. “We'll just put a pizza in the oven. All eggs we need are here in this room.” He reached out and playfully pulled at Mycroft's now soft sack.

Mycroft kissed him gently. “Yes, all we need is here.”

Both turned to look over to the door when they heard the clacking of claws and then Lucky jumped on the bed, hopping between them.

“Now it's all here,” Sherlock stated and stroked his dog and kissed his man.

*****

The next few days went by in the same pattern. They did their best to help Scotland Yard with the cold cases, as it was nice for Mycroft to give his brain something to do, and soon enough Scotland Yard would have to get their work done themselves. They had a lot of sex, and both of them worked out nearly every day. Sherlock could almost watch his muscles grow, and he knew that his appearance had changed a lot since his picture had been shown in the newspapers the last time. The public had already almost forgotten about him. He didn’t solve any cases anymore except for the police, and as always, he kept a low profile about that. John didn't update his blog anymore, and Sherlock was hardly ever recognised by strangers these days. But still he had a unique face, so he needed to change his looks as much as possible without having plastic surgery. So after faking his death, he would finally get rid of his curls and grow a goatee, that should be enough to look a lot different. He couldn't do anything about his cheekbones, and he wouldn't have wanted that anyway because Mycroft loved them so much.

Mycroft on the other hand was unknown to the public, but to stress his younger look, he would have a hair-transplant pretty soon after arriving in Brazil. He would wear a hair-piece for the passport-picture and he would keep it on in public until his new hair was grown. Sherlock figured that the age difference between his actual self and the passport was just an excuse for him to fill up the thin hair, and Sherlock didn't think it was really necessary as he loved him the way he was, but he knew that Mycroft had some issues with getting bald, and it would make him feel good to have a full head of hair again.

Two days before Tony's estimated arrival in London, Mycroft turned forty-four. Sherlock had mused about the fact that he had never congratulated him to his birthday since Mycroft had become a grownup. He had never called him on that day or texted him nor had he ever given him any presents. That didn't mean though that he had not thought about him. The opposite was true. Wherever he had been, whatever he had been doing, he had wondered how Mycroft was spending that day. Was he paying attention to it at all? He would receive a call and a gift from their parents of course, but besides that? Was he feeling lonely? Or was it just another usual day in the Iceman's life? He had never asked him of course as every conversation they had with each other had ended in resentful bickering, and he would have not dared show such a concern.

In any way, this year and in all years ahead of them, Mycroft would realise that this was a special day for him. Of course Sherlock was determined to make  _ every day _ they were spending together a special day, but he wanted him to feel especially loved and cherished on his birthday to make up for all the missed opportunities to get close to him in the past. Who knew, perhaps, if he had shown his affection for him at that one day of the year, they would have discovered that their feelings for each other were reciprocated a long time ago.

In any way it would be a day of Mycroft-spoiling, and he could not wait for his lover to wake up. They had taken to going to sleep rather early and start the day early as well. But Sherlock didn't want to wake his lover up, and very carefully he left the bed to get ready in the bathroom downstairs and make breakfast. Lucky accompanied him and got his dog food after a visit to the garden; they would take him for a walk later.

When he had finished everything, he brought a tablet with coffee and scones and more nice little extras upstairs. He could hear the shower when he entered the bedroom and put the tablet on the bed, hoping to lure Mycroft back into it when he was finished. He eagerly awaited Mycroft, and when he showed up - freshly shaven and wearing his bathrobe and a smile - he welcomed him with the first but certainly not last passionate kiss of the day.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered into his ear and was rewarded with a firm hug.

“Thank you, honey, this looks very good. Let's eat before the eggs get cold. Those eggs!”

Sherlock grinned and held the tablet up so Mycroft could slip under the blanket again after getting rid of his robe. “Of course. The others never get cold.”

They devoured their breakfast while Mycroft was having a look at the newspaper, commenting on what he was reading, and Sherlock felt relaxed and happy despite his nervousness about the things that were about to happen only days ahead. He fed Mycroft with a cherry here and a piece of orange there, sticking one of them between his lips so Mycroft took it from him, leading to a wonderful kiss.

As soon as they were finished, he brought the tablet in the kitchen and returned to the bedroom with a big carton. Lucky watched it curiously.

“Sherlock, what's that? Don't tell me this is for me!”

“Of course it's for you, or do you see another birthday boy here? And don't worry, it's nothing that is difficult to transport.”

“Alright, thank you, Sherlock, let me see.”

Sherlock took a seat on the bed while Mycroft opened the packet. “My God, Sherlock, I will look like the godfather with them!” He put on the completely black Ray-Ban sunglasses and Sherlock smiled widely.

“They fit you very well! Mr Mafia man!”

“They're awesome, thank you, baby. And what's that, styling gel?”

Sherlock was quite sure that his lover had never used that before. “Yes, as soon as you'll have a mane of black hair, you can style it back and it will match the sunglasses greatly.” But of course that was not the end of it.

“Is that linen?” Mycroft asked with wide eyes when he discovered the white suit on the ground of the carton.

“Yes, I figured you need that. I have bought one for myself, too, by the way. And once we are a little tanned, it will look great on us. Oh, there must be some sun milk in there as well. You should look tanned, not burnt.” Of course, the Brazilian sun would be a massive change to the moderate weather in England. But their house would have air conditioning of course, and Sherlock was very sure that they would get acquainted to the climatic change very quickly.

“Sherlock, that's great. I will exactly look like a dubious, wealthy ex-businessman.” And that would indeed be his cover story. And Sherlock would be his chemist husband.

“Try it on for me, would you?”

Of course Mycroft did him the favour, and Sherlock watched with pleasure how his slim, muscular body fit into the expensive suit, and he got up to fix the collar. He put the sunglasses on his nose and beamed at him. “You look awesome!”

Mycroft pulled him close. “Thank you, darling, you put a lot of thought in these gifts and I love them. But now put your suit on as well!”

Sherlock did as he was told, and soon they were standing next to each other in front of the mirror. “We are looking great. The men in white!”

“It changes our looks completely,” Mycroft said almost reverently.

“Yes. You look wonderful in it. But I wonder how you are going to look half out of it…”

Mycroft grabbed his waist and pressed a kiss on his lips. “I'm sure that you are going to find out very soon. But I have something for you as well.”

“But it's not my birthday!”

“Let's rather say, something for us. I wanted to show it to you when we are in the safe house, but now I can't wait any longer.” Het let Sherlock go and walked to his nightstand, collecting a small case.

Sherlock felt his heart jump in his chest. “Is this…”

“Yes.” Mycroft opened the case with a smile and showed Sherlock what it was containing: two almost identical rings, differing only in the size; not plain bands as Mycroft's was but bicolour gems with one small diamond. “It's made of platinum and rose gold with a half-carat. I know I should have asked you if you like them and go with you to a jeweller in the first place, but I thought… Sherlock?”

“Sorry,” Sherlock sobbed, reaching for the rings. “They're just so beautiful.”

Mycroft smiled. “I'm so glad you like them. Look what's engraved.”

He took the bigger one of the rings with trembling fingers and looked on the inside. The engraving was short and simple:  _ S & M. Forever in love _ . He looked at his man with eyes full of tears. “I don't know what to say…” He buried his face on Mycroft's neck when he was pulled in a tender embrace. He felt Lucky at his leg and smiled.

“I could just not let us go there as husbands without exchanging rings first. Of course we can only start wearing them when we're out of here, and it's not possible to have a real marriage because we won't get our papers soon enough to get married on British grounds, but we will be married anyway thanks to the magic hands of our friend Oscar… You know, I've never done that before and perhaps it sounds silly and clumsy but…” He pulled back and took the ring from Sherlock's hand. “Let me put it on.” He slipped the ring on Sherlock's left ring finger, looking into his wet eyes. “Sherlock, getting together with you as we should be is the best thing that has ever happened to me. My life was empty and cold and pathetic before you had the courage to tell me that you loved me as much as I've loved you for twenty years. We've gone through so much together in the past few months, and now we are finally going away together - no longer as the Holmes brothers but as husband and husband, and nothing could make me happier. I promise to give you happiness every day of your life, to support you in every way, to make you smile when you feel like crying, to kiss you awake when you're having a nightmare, to give you my love and to do everything I can to show you that you mean the world to me. Oh dear, look at you!” He smiled, and Sherlock was pulled again close to him; the tears were falling freely now.

He did his best to regain his self-control and thankfully accepted the tissue that Mycroft handed to him. “I'm sorry, Mycie, but that was so…”

“Sappy? Embarrassing?”

“No! So sweet!”

Mycroft chuckled. “I didn't mean to make you cry with that. But be assured I meant every word I said.” His eyes were wet, too, Sherlock realised when he was able to see details again.

Sherlock grabbed for the second ring and it fit perfectly on Mycroft's left ring finger. He cleared his throat, feeling the words coming to his mind completely naturally. “Mycie, the day we got together was like an explosion of joy for me. I've longed for you for so many years, and I made your and my life very difficult because I thought you would never want me. But now I know you do and you've always done, and I feel so blessed. You are giving up your whole life for me, and I would have never expected this. You're my best friend, my soulmate, my lover, and I adore you and desire you and love you more than I could ever express. I promise you to always respect you, support you, be there for you, to put all my efforts in making our new life work so you'll never have to regret fulfilling my biggest wish, which is to be with you where nobody will know that we are not like the usual gay couple, where we won't have to hide our love. I can't wait to start this new life with you, my man, my everything, the one I'd do everything for.”

The tears were coming back and he could see Mycroft cry as well, but this time watching him cry made him so happy. They met for a long, deep kiss that was a promise to fulfil the vows they had just made to each other. And then Mycroft pulled him to their bed and they continued kissing while Sherlock reached into his lover's white jacket and put his big hand on his chest, feeling his throbbing heart, and he knew that it was beating with love for him. A few minutes later the suits were a pile on the floor, and they started sealing their vows by making love, slowly, tenderly and unforgettably, their bodies merging like their souls, and Sherlock knew that nothing in this or their future world would come between them.

*****

Very reluctantly, Mycroft stored their rings again, but he was comforted by the knowledge that they would put them on for good in only a few days. Despite everything that had to happen before, he was feeling like he was floating on cloud nine. He felt as if they really had gotten married. That their dog had been the only witness of their improvised ceremony, was exactly how it should have been. This moment had been so special and so full of emotion, and he wouldn't have wanted to share it with anybody else.

After taking Lucky for a walk in the park, they had lunch. Sherlock outdid himself by cooking a three-course meal, and after letting it sack for half an hour, they went to the gym. He laughed when Sherlock presented him a big chocolate cake after working out for more than an hour, contradicting their efforts of being trained and slim, but in the end it was his birthday, and he enjoyed the cake and being Sherlock's centre of attention even more than usual. He knew that he would never forget what they had told each other; it would be the very heart of his mind palace from now on, the place to retrieving to whenever it was needed.

Watching Sherlock eat his Sacher torte was strangely sensual, and he had not quite taken the last piece from his fork with these luscious lips when Mycroft moved his chair closer to his and kissed him, licking into his chocolate-filled mouth. Sherlock started to laugh and so the kiss got literally messy. Sherlock pulled him up and led him to the couch and their lips met again. They licked off the chocolate that just had been smeared over their lips and chins when the landline started to ring.

“God, does he never give up?” Sherlock hissed. “He will be so devastated…”

“I'm not so sure that it's the PM this time,” Mycroft replied, waiting for the answering machine to take the call while he leaned back against the couch, pulling his lover close to him. And it wasn't the PM.

_ “Mycroft, are you at home?” _ came the broken voice of their mother.

“Yes, of course,” Sherlock grumbled. “Saying  _ happy birthday _ to her lost son.”

_ “My dear, if you are there, please answer the phone. Father and I want to wish you all the best, and tell you how much we miss you and Sherlock. I can't reach him either, his phone is never on anymore.” _

Mycroft could see him roll his eyes and kissed him on the temple.

_ “Mycroft, please, don't expel us from your life forever. We are so terribly sorry about what happened, we…” _ And then the talk time was over and the call broke off.

“Fine, where were we?” Sherlock kissed him again and Mycroft gave into it for a long moment, waiting for the phone to ring again, but it remained silent.

Then he drew back and laid a hand on Sherlock's cheek. “Have you thought about what it will mean for them at all?”

Sherlock looked a little confused, but then he raised his eyebrows. “You mean believing that we are both dead, leaving them with their psychotic, incarcerated monster of a daughter as their only remaining child?”

“Yes.”

Sherlock kissed him soundly on the mouth. “That's another nice bonus to getting what I've dreamt of.”

He couldn’t help but laughing. “We are really bad children. We should feel guilty about it. But somehow I don't, either.”

“We erased them from our lives already, and they wouldn’t have seen us again anyway. See it this way: at least they won't have to waste any more time on having wrong hopes of reconciling with us.” He sounded cold and merciless, and Mycroft caught himself liking that. “Remember, it's you and I against the rest of the world, Mycie, and you said it before - that's how it should be.” He kissed Mycroft again, laying a palm on the back of his head. “I can't wait to finally go away, somehow I still can't believe it will really happen.”

“Oh, it will, you know how far our preparations have progressed already. Just a couple more days, Sherlock. What do you think of going upstairs now? Celebrating a little more?”

“What do you have in mind? Emptying a bottle of champagne? Shall I light forty-four, oh, no, forty-one candles for you so you can blow them out?”

“Blowing sounds good to me, but I wasn’t exactly thinking of candles. Even though… It is a candle in a way, so hot and hard.”

Sherlock's hand was already searching for something hot and hard on Mycroft's body, and he found it quickly. “Oh yes, now that you mention it… But I could take care of it right here and there.”

“They might call again…”

“And it would be even hotter then…”

Mycroft smiled. “My cute, perverse husband. But I would prefer being pampered by your divine lips without listening to the woman formerly known as our mother.”

Sherlock swallowed. “Husband. That sounds so awesome.”

“It is, Sherlock. And it always will be.”


	36. Chapter 36

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dying to be reborn!

“My dear boy, I will miss you so much. But I am also so happy for you.” Martha Hudson wiped her tears away with the tissue that Sherlock had offered her. It was time to say goodbye. They would meet the next day once more - this time for the last time - but the circumstances would not allow them to do it properly then.

On that Saturday evening, Mycroft and Sherlock had invited her as well as Molly and Anthea over to go through their plan with them again. Mistakes just couldn't happen, and all of them would have to play their roles convincingly. So they had checked everything with them again, leaving no question unanswered. The question that had not been answered and wouldn't get answered was the one about their future - the men had made that clear to them from the beginning.

None of the women would know where they were about to go and what they were going to do with their lives from now on. They wouldn't know their new names, and there would be no contact anymore. Mycroft as well as Sherlock knew that it was better this way. A clear cut, a really new beginning, no baggage, no looking back. They knew that it would be hard for Martha and Anthea after spending so many years with the respective Holmes brother, and Mycroft and Sherlock would certainly miss them to some degree as well. But it just felt right.

Martha had met Tony once, but she didn't know that they would go with him, and neither Molly nor Anthea knew about his existence, and Oscar was unknown to all of them.

The Brazilian had arrived in London four days ago, and they had spent a lot of time with him and the young hacker, arranging everything that still needed to be done. And now they were ready. The next day would change their lives forever, and Greg Lestrade and John Watson had to be deceived above everybody else. And with the help of Martha and the other two women, Sherlock was hopeful that everything would work out fine.

“I will miss you, too, Martha,” Sherlock said, standing with her in the living room. “I'm so grateful for everything you have done for me and for us, for your support, your biscuits, and your always open ear. Without you, our secret would have blown up months ago. I will never forget you and I wish you all the best in the world.” He embraced her and she buried her face on his chest and sobbed.

Over her head he saw Molly looking at him. She was sitting on the couch with Mycroft and Anthea, and she was holding hands with Mycroft's former PA. Sherlock had been pleased to learn that Anthea had conquered Molly's heart very fast. She looked happy when her eyes were on her girlfriend, but now that she was holding Sherlock's gaze, her eyes were filled with tears nevertheless. She stood up now, knowing that they would leave him and Mycroft soon now. And while both women would see Mycroft again before he left, it was their last meeting with Sherlock.

Martha regained her self-control and excused herself to go to the bathroom, and Molly came to him instead. “I don't know what to say, Sherlock. It's so surreal, knowing that I'll never see you again.”

He nodded. “Yes. But it looks that you've found your love now.”

“Yes, I have. Anthea, she's so… adorable, beautiful, smart, brave, just everything. Do you think I've longed for you for so many years - knowing that I could never have you - because I didn't want to face the fact that I love women? I mean, I still like you very much, but not in a romantic way anymore.”

“Oh, you'd have to ask this question a therapist I guess. It's possible I suppose. In any way I'm glad to see you happy in the end. And I can only say  _ thank you _ again. For all you've done for me, and for helping Mycroft and me faking our deaths this time.”

She smiled sadly. “You know I'd do anything to help you. But this time you won't come back from the dead, will you?”

“No, definitely not. The only task I'll have to fulfil this time is to make Mycroft happy. Now and for the rest of our lives. I wish I could have done it here, but the law doesn't let me. So there's no other way than to leave everything behind.” Perhaps they wouldn’t have had to fake their deaths for that, but to them it appeared to be the right thing to erase their past completely; to be dead for the world they've known so nobody would ever suspect that they had eloped. This way nobody would search for them, and nobody would find them.

“I hope that you will be very happy together, Sherlock. I can see how much you love each other, and I think it's a crime to criminalise your love.”

Anthea got up now and Molly embraced Sherlock quickly. He patted on her back and looked at her girlfriend.

“Sherlock, goodbye,” Anthea said and laid one hand on his arm and the other on Molly's shoulder. “I know you are making him happy, and I hope that it will be like that forever. It was my pleasure to have known you and him. I wish you two all the luck in the world.”

And then Sherlock was embraced by the third woman in five minutes, and he wished her and Molly the best for their own future and thanked Anthea as well for her help. He knew that she would stop working for the government right before New Year's Eve, her superiors didn't have any idea about it so far. She would have done it before, but Mycroft had asked her to go on working there until they had left the country and everything was sorted. From the New Year on, she would work for a non-profit organisation that supported women in need, and she was looking forward to it a lot already.

Anthea and Mycroft would see each other again the next day so they didn't have to say goodbye yet. Both of the men accompanied the women to the door and Martha and Anthea cuddled Lucky. Then Martha embraced Sherlock again, and then they were gone.

Sherlock turned to Mycroft and their mouths found each other for a long and tender kiss.

“So, baby, our last night together in this house.” Mycroft sounded a bit melancholic.

“Yes. I will miss it,” Sherlock said quietly. “The old furniture, the gym, our bed.”

“But we'll have an even better gym and even a pool in our new house. And Tony has gotten us a huge waterbed as well.”

“Oh, yes, that will be very nice,” Sherlock said with a grin. He couldn't wait for their first time having sex on that bed. But they wouldn't go there so soon. They would spend about two weeks together with Oscar and Tony in the safe house far away from London. But of course they would have sex there as well, no matter on which kind of bed.

Sherlock had not packed anything. In case Lestrade would sense that something was wrong - which he hopefully wouldn’t - his stuff had to be in Mycroft's house. Of course it would appear as if he had been staying in the guest room. They had brought the few things they wanted to take to Brazil as well as the basic stuff they would need until then to their transitional home already, especially the wedding rings and their white suits. Oscar, who was already there after selling his house, had promised to pretend them with his life. Tony had filled their new home in Brazil with everything necessary, guided by the list that Sherlock had given him. Everything was ready, and the next day they would stop existing as Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes.

“We can still use the gym tomorrow. But now let's go to bed,” Mycroft suggested.

“Yes, it's already nine, time to sleep.” Sherlock yawned ostentatiously.

“Um, I had something else in mind.” He sounded a bit unsure if Sherlock was kidding or not.

“Really? I would have never thought!” Sherlock teased him. His heart was making little jumps already and so was his cock…

“Somehow I don't believe that.” Mycroft took his hand. “Let me love you now, Sherlock.”

“If you insist on it,” he said with a bored voice but then he winked and kissed him on the cheek. For some reason he felt he had to fight the small streak of melancholy that had appeared in Mycroft's voice with not only great sex but a little humour as well.

“I guess I will spank you first for being such a dick.” But he was grinning, and Sherlock pressed his hand firmly.

“Ooh, I can't wait!” And this was not a tease.

*****

On this early Sunday evening - it had already become dark outside - Sherlock looked at the living room of 221B Baker Street for the very last time. It had been his home for so many years; he had sat in this chair countless times - listening to clients' stories, talking to John Watson, or just drinking tea. And now he would never see this flat again, and the thought caused him nothing but gratitude. All the time he had been living here, he had either wished to miraculously win his brother's heart, or, after he had realised he already had it, had wished to be in his house and in his bed. He wasn't giving up anything - he would ride into the sunset with the man who meant everything to him, and it was long overdue.

“Come Lucky, time to get some dog biscuits.”

He left the flat and went down the stairs with his dog and a small bag, containing a coat and two books, and stalked to 221A and rang the bell.

“Oh, Sherlock, how nice of you to drop by!” Martha welcomed him. “Come in! I thought you didn't get my message, John is already on it. Oh hello, Lucky!”

He entered the flat and Lucky ran into the kitchen. “I don't understand, which message?”

“My sink is defect. John is just looking at it.” She reached out her right hand and Sherlock took it and pressed it. Despite her easy tone she looked very sad.

Sherlock smiled at her and raised his eyebrows, indicating that it was necessary to also look completely normal. “Shouldn't you have called a plumber instead of a doctor?”

“I heard that!” came from the kitchen.

He went into the room, seeing only two legs first that were being sniffed at by a curious little dog. John was under the sink, working with a big tool.

“Can you try the water, please?”

Sherlock did him the favour and heard a satisfied grunt. “It should be fine now.” When he came up, he tried to clean the backside of his jeans, and put the tool on the table. “Hi Sherlock. Your phone was off as usual?”

“I tried to call you several times,” Martha threw in.

Sherlock pulled out his phone, the one he hardly ever used anymore. He looked at the display with narrowed eyes. “I didn't hear any incoming calls, and see, there was nothing.” He handed the phone over to the doctor, who started looking himself. The phone was cleared from every hint at Sherlock's secret, and he looked at John innocently.

“No, I don't see anything either, but it seems to work fine now. Strange.”

“Oh boys, sit down, I'll make tea for you. Thank you for your help, John, that was so kind of you.”

“No problem, Martha. And I'd like a cuppa.”

Both men sat down while Martha was filling the kettle. John put Sherlock's phone on the table as Sherlock was busy touching Lucky.

After a moment of awkward silence, Sherlock asked: “How are Rosie and Kelly?”

“Oh, fine, thank you. And you? Seems you've already sort of moved out here?”

“Not voluntarily, I can assure you. But my brother is worse than ever since he's lost his job. You know how overprotective he's always been, but now he hardly lets me go anywhere because he's become totally paranoid.”

“Yes, Martha told me that he doesn’t work anymore. It's hard to imagine him not being the British Government all at once. What exactly happened?”

“Well, the story is hard to believe.” But it was true, and Sherlock told John about Mycroft being suspected of being a traitor. As with Lestrade, he left out Oscar's name and just mentioned an IT specialist who had found out who was really guilty.

“Shit,” John mumbled when he was finished. “You know I don't really like him, but he certainly didn't deserve that. And now what, what is he going to do?”

“Well, as soon as he recovered from that, he will for sure find another job. With his brain and experience, I doubt that he will have to search long. And I consider working as a chemist for a change. I already spoke to a company.”

“Wow. That will really be a change. But I'm glad to hear that you want to give your life a different direction.”

_ Oh, if only you knew…  _ “Yes, I guess the times of wearing a deerstalker and solving cases are over. I do lend Lestrade a hand from time to time, and at the moment I'm helping one of his colleagues with cold cases, and I guess I will keep doing that when I start working. I hope that it won't be too dull though.”

John laughed. “Yes, daily jobs are totally dull.” Then he grew serious again. “So Mycroft thinks you and he are in danger?”

“Yes, he's so silly. Nobody's after us of course. But after what had happened, it's no real wonder that he's seeing ghosts now. Oh, thank you.”

Martha had put cups and plates on the table and sat down next to them. But then she jumped up again. “Oh, the biscuits!”

Sherlock looked at his watch. “I'll need to leave soon. I wouldn't want Mycroft to call Lestrade again because I'm five minutes late. He's driving me crazy.”

“What about his health, is he okay?”

“Yes, I think so. But his worries are not helpful.” Sherlock took a sip from his tea.

Martha sat down again and provided them with biscuits. “It's so nice to have you boys together again.”

Sherlock looked at John, and the doctor returned his gaze. “I'm sorry, Sherlock, I was not very nice to you when we met last time. It was just… I miss you and our time here.” He sounded rather depressed.

“But you are happy, you and Kelly?” Martha asked with genuine concern.

“Yes, of course. But… it's all so reasonable and perfect.”

“Perfection sucks,” Sherlock agreed with a nod and John laughed.

“Don't get me wrong, I love her and I'm looking forward to become a father again. It's just the adventure I miss. And you… Both of you.”

“Oh, once your little boy is there, you will have plenty of adventure,” Martha soothed him.

“A boy?” Sherlock asked. He had not known that. But then, he had not asked.

“Yes. But I'm afraid his name won't be Sherlock.”

“Of course not. You wouldn't want him to be bullied throughout his school time.”

“Exactly. He will get a nice, normal name like James or Steve.”

Sherlock almost choked on his biscuit, and John patted on his back. “Don't worry, I didn't think of him. Kelly's father's name was James.”

It took Sherlock a moment to realise what he meant, but then he was very grateful for the coincidence. “Yes, well, it just sounded strange. But I guess you won't think of our friend Jim whenever you call him then.”

“I would prefer Steve anyway. It's just a nice name.”

“Yes, it is.” He looked at his watch again. “I need to leave now. I bet Mycroft is already staring at his watch and counting the minutes until I'm supposed to be there.” He stood up and brought his plate and cup to the sink. John did the same, and when he had put his stuff away, he laid a hand on Sherlock's waist.

“Is everything okay between us now?”

“Of course, John. You'll always be my friend.” And Sherlock surprised himself by embracing the doctor. John pressed his waist tightly.

Then Sherlock turned to the old lady. “Bye, Martha. Thank you.” He couldn't say more now.

She blinked some tears away. “Oh, it's so nice to see you two reconciled. My dear boys.”

Sherlock kissed her on the cheek, trying to suppress the feelings of loss and nervousness. “Take care.” He looked at the doctor again, who was still standing next to them. “Bye, John. My regards to Rosie and Kelly.”

“And you say Mycroft  _ hello _ from me. See you soon I hope,” his former flatmate said.

Sherlock nodded. “Come, Lucky.” And then he took his bag, exchanged looks with Martha for the last time, left the kitchen and walked through the corridor. Half a minute later he opened the front door and stepped out of the house, but he didn't shut the door completely. Instead he stood on the doorstep and listened into the house until he heard the door of 221A open up and heard Martha say  _ I'm sure that you'll still catch him! _

Now he quickly stalked away onto the quiet, dark street. On a rainy, ugly Sunday evening, hardly nobody was walking around, and there was nearly no traffic.

“Sherlock, wait, you forgot your phone!” John shouted behind him.

He turned around to him, and then everything happened very quickly. A dark Ford Explorer stopped next to him, and two men, who were wearing masks with the face of Donald Trump, jumped out, and then he was pushed into the backdoor of the car, losing his bag, the barking dog following him. The door was shut and he looked out of the back window, gesturing to John and crying  _ Help me! _ And then the car drove off at a high pace, and the last he saw from the doctor were his wide, terrified eyes, and then he disappeared from his sight and his life forever.

*****

“Wow, I can't get over how clever he is. He got it on the first take! I hope that you will be an equally great actor!”

Sherlock grinned. “That's my boy.” He gave Lucky another dog biscuit and tickled his little head. “Oh, we need to clean you up,” he stated when he realised that his hand got sticky from artificial blood. He grabbed for a tissue, wetted it with the water from the bottle he had drunk from before, and cleaned the black-and-white head from the red fluid. Lucky was holding still, looking rather satisfied with himself, and he had every reason to do so.

Oscar looked at the display of his camera, going through the material he had just filmed. “It looks totally believable. I'll just have to do a few adjustments with the lighting, and then it will be your turn.”

“Alright, I'm ready when you are.”

Tony came over to them and sat down opposite of Sherlock. “How are you feeling?” he asked with his deep, calm voice. They had not talked a lot since Sherlock had arrived at his interim home. Everybody was eager to get it over with.

“I'm okay. A bit nervous though. I hope that I can play my part half as convincingly as Lucky did.”

Tony smiled. “You know I love all dogs, all animals in fact, but I have to say that this one is really a special one.” His big hand stroked the dog's back tenderly, and Sherlock thought that Lucky was really grinning.

“Mycroft and I have trained a lot with him, but he's a natural talent. Nobody can play  _ dead dog _ better than he does,” Sherlock claimed proudly.

“I have no doubts. And don't be nervous - as fast as Oscar works, we'll have time for doing several takes. The most important thing is to fall convincingly. And it will hurt your head on both sides; you'll have to live with a headache for a day or two.”

Sherlock was aware of that. They wouldn't be able to put a pillow on the ground so he would have a soft landing. “That's no problem. But I have to admit, I wish everything was already over.”  _ And I wish Mycie was already here with me… _

“It will be fine, Sherlock, it was planned in all details, and nothing will go wrong. And in about two weeks, you will be swimming in your pool, enjoying the Brazilian sun instead of walking through this everlasting rain.” He looked kind of disgusted.

“And after that we'll sleep on our waterbed. You did buy a waterbed for us?” Sherlock insisted. He knew it, but he wanted to be one hundred percent sure.

Oscar giggled. “Yes, he needs to know that he will  _ sleep _ on a fancy waterbed.”

Tony grinned. “Yes, you and Mycroft will sleep and do anything else you like on a waterbed. I swear on Nina's life.” He had not taken his daughter with him to England, even though she had begged him to do it as he had told Sherlock. But he had not allowed it simply because she had to go to school.

“Good,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Okay, I'm finished. Where are our lovely Donald Trumps?” Oscar asked loudly, and Igor and Sergey stood up from the table they had been playing cards on. The two Russian men had been working with Tony for a long time. For their ruse they had needed guys who didn't only speak English but also Russian, and despite living in Brazil for years, they of course did. Tony had assured Sherlock and Mycroft that both of them were completely trustworthy.

Sherlock brought Lucky into the kitchen to Billy and Bobby and closed the door behind him, after having told all three of them to stay absolutely quiet until they were allowed to return to the living room. He was sure that they would obey. When he joined Oscar and Tony again, Sergey and Igor had put their masks on once more.

“The original is a hundred times scarier,” Oscar stated, and Sherlock could only agree. But both men were wearing black from head to toe, they were built like heavyweight boxers and were scary enough for making a great impression. “Here's your gun, Donny-Boy. Make sure that you are using this, not your own!”

“Don't worry, they are not wearing guns,” Tony soothed him. “They left them in Brazil.” He stood up. “Alright, relax, Sherlock, if it doesn't work on the first take, we'll just repeat it. We have enough of the rubber bullets.”

“Yes, but if I fall on my head more than twice, I may be knocked out when Mycroft comes.”

“You know you will have to spend some more hours without him anyway. And if you're really out when he comes, I'm sure that he will kiss you awake,” Tony said with a wink. “Everybody in position now!”

“He's a great director, if a little authoritarian,” Oscar stated with a grin.

“No unnecessary word from the camera man!” Tony admonished him and grinned back.

“Sorry, Mr Spielberg, I'll keep my filthy mouth shut. Just that: the camera is ready.”

Sherlock took a deep breath. It was time to  _ die _ .

*****

“Please, calm down, Mr Holmes. My men are out there, and we are doing everything to find him.”

“But how? We have no description other than a black or dark blue or dark brown Ford Explorer and two bloody Donald Trumps!” Mycroft looked at Greg Lestrade with wide open, desperate eyes, his voice was trembling.

“I'm sorry, I couldn’t see more, it was dark and it all happened so fast!” John said, his face a mask of terror. “I just can't believe it, he had just said he didn't think he was in danger, and then he got kidnapped right before my eyes!”

“My poor boy,” Martha sobbed and sacked even deeper on the couch. Molly, who was sitting next to her, put an arm around her shoulder. Her huge eyes looked haunted.

“You should have believed me!” Mycroft said with narrowed eyes. “I told you they would come after me, and as they couldn't get me, they took my brother and my dog instead!”

“I couldn't send men over to watch over you,” Lestrade explained. “There was no real threat! And why didn't you engage some bodyguards if you were so afraid?”

“Because Sherlock didn't want that,” Mycroft said with a broken voice. “And now they have him…”

“The Secret Service is on it as well,” Anthea said calmly. “They owe you at least this.”

“But we should do something, too,” Mycroft whispered. “We can't sit around for more hours and not be out there searching for them.”

“We need to wait for the kidnappers to contact you and tell you what they want,” the DI said.

“They want to destroy me, whoever they are.”

“But who are they? Can you really not narrow it down?”

“No!” Mycroft screamed. “It could be the North Koreans, the Russians, I have no idea! I…”

And then his phone started chirping, and he almost dropped it when he took it from the table. “I don't know this number,” he said with a shivering voice.

Greg moved very close to him when he took the call so he could listen without Mycroft using the speakers.

“Hello?”

_ “Mr Holmes,” _ a strange sounding voice came through.  _ “We'll send you an email now.” _ And then the connection was off.

“No way to track that down,” Anthea explained. “Open it on your laptop, sir, we need a bigger picture.”

Mycroft was already doing that as of course they had agreed on that before Lestrade had shown up. Everything was following the plan so far. The car with Sherlock and Lucky, driven by one of Tony's men, had disappeared into the dark, rainy evening without a trace. John had called the DI first and then Mycroft, and he had brought Mrs Hudson to Mycroft's house. Mycroft had called Anthea, and she had come over at once with Molly. Lestrade had been the last to arrive, being in contact over the phone several times while he was organising the search for Sherlock. Mycroft really hoped they wouldn't need the resources that were occupied for finding someone who didn't want to be found for a real crime.

The mail came from a strange combination of numbers and letters.

“I'll give that to our men at once,” Anthea explained, already on her phone. Of course she wouldn't do anything like that.

A flickering picture appeared on the screen when Mycroft had opened the attached video file. He could see Sherlock, sitting on a plain chair in a big room. His hands were on his back; it wasn't shown if he was bound to the chair. His mouth was gagged and his eyes were huge. A man - wearing a Donald-Trump-mask - was standing behind him, pointing a gun to his head. Mycroft heard Martha sob even louder, and Molly made a terrified noise. Not much of the interior could be identified thanks to the greasy picture. Oscar had done a very good job, Mycroft thought. Now his dog and his man needed to have done the same… But he didn’t doubt that. This was not live after all.

Another man came into the picture. He was all black clothes and a Trump-mask as well, impossible to identify. He was carrying a baseball bat, and John cursed behind Mycroft.  _ “Mr Holmes, finally. We've been waiting for this opportunity for such a long time.” His voice sounded distorted, but the Russian accent was undeniable. “If you don't give us what we want, your brother will die. Just as this rat.”  _ Without any hesitation he turned around, swung the bat and they could see it go down on Lucky, who had sat on the ground next to Sherlock. They heard Sherlock scream behind his gag, and the camera moved to him, showing his wide eyes that were flooded with tears, and then the camera zoomed onto the dog. His little head was full of blood and he didn't move, his small tongue hung out of his muzzle, and his eyes were open. It looked so real that Mycroft really gasped, and behind him everybody made noises of terror.

Then his phone chirped again. “What do you want, you bloody bastard?” he asked in a hoarse voice.

_ “Oh, not so impolite, Mr Holmes. It's very easy. You have a smartphone?” _

“Yes.”

_ “And I guess you are not alone.” _

Mycroft hesitated. “No, I have some friends with me,” he admitted then.

_ “Excellent. Then you can hand your phone to one of them so he can film you.” _

“Film me doing what?”

_ “Killing yourself of course.” _

Martha screamed behind him and so did Molly. He turned around with wide eyes, looking at the doctor, who was staring at him, his mouth open, and even Lestrade was pale. Both men were standing behind his chair, not able to stay seated.

_ “You have fifteen minutes. If I don't receive your video, I will kill your brother.”  _ The connection broke off.

Nobody said a word for a few seconds, only Martha's sobs were breaking the silence in the room.

“Did you bring your gun?” Mycroft asked John in a toneless voice.

“No!” both men said simultaneously.

“You are not going to do that,” Lestrade said. “They will never let Sherlock go, no matter if you kill yourself or not. We have to be reasonable, probably he is already dead…”

“Don't say that! You don't know that! I can't sit here and let him die! Give me your weapon, either of you.” For a moment he wondered what he would do if one of them really did it…

“No,” Lestrade said and grabbed his shoulders. “I will not let you do this. I will rather arrest you than letting you…”

Mycroft reached into his jacket, fumbling for his gun, and then John was grabbing his arm and held it in an iron grip, and he let himself slump against Lestrade's stomach. He retrieved in his mind palace, looking for a picture of strong emotion, and he found it in that cell in Sherrinford, thinking that he would die without ever telling Sherlock that he loved him, and tears came to his eyes, and he could feel Lestrade's big hand on the back of his head.

“Mycroft,” Lestrade finally said, “did you recognise the voice? Or their appearance? Anything that helps us to find them?”

“I have no idea who they are,” he whispered against Lestrade's body. Then he pulled back. “Call your men, and Anthea, do the same! They must find him before it's too late!”

The next minutes he was listening to Lestrade barking in his phone and Anthea screaming at imaginary agents.

Everybody stopped talking when Mycroft's phone chirped for the third time. He didn't say anything when he accepted the call with a stony face, putting the speakers on this time so the others could hear everything.

_ “What a shame that you are such a coward, Mr Holmes. Want to say goodbye?” _

And then Mycroft heard Sherlock's voice. “Mycroft?”

“Sherlock! Where are you? Who are they?”

_ “It's too late. I'm sorry I didn't listen to you, just don't do what he told you, I…” _

The voice of the kidnapper came back.  _ “Ah, such a poor goodbye. Enjoy the movie.” _ The phone call was being ended.

“Don't do it, Mycroft, don't look at it,” Lestrade begged, his face was a mask of terror, and so was John's.

Without a word Mycroft stared at his laptop. After only a few seconds another mail came in, and he opened the attachment. He heard everybody gasp when they could see Sherlock shooting up from his chair, attacking the man with the baseball bat after pushing back the man who had been standing behind him. And then the kidnapper with the gun stood up, and Mycroft heard Martha and Molly scream so loudly that it hurt his ears, and then he could see and hear a shot and Sherlock fell over on his face. John started to cry behind him, and the camera went to the man with the bat.

_ “I think I will let you live, dear Mr Holmes. So you can remember for the rest of your life what you could have prevented.” _

The camera zoomed on Sherlock's head, a huge puddle of blood was under his head, and a bullet hole was visible on his temple. Mycroft knew that it was made of latex, but it looked completely real. The video stopped, and very slowly he got up from his chair and turned around. He looked into the shocked faces of John and the DI. The three women were holding each other, crying and sobbing, and Mycroft knew that it was not all just pretended, especially from Molly and Martha. They knew that this was the last they would ever see of Sherlock, and it had not been very pleasant. And the two men really believed that they had just seen him die.

“Get out,” he said to John and Greg with the iciest voice he could pull off. “Now.”

“You can't be alone now,” John protested.

“It's your fault,” he hissed. “He would be still alive if you had let me shoot myself.”

“You know they would have killed him anyway!” Lestrade protested.

“No! They wanted  _ me _ to die, and he wouldn't have recognised them - they were wearing fucking masks!” he shouted. “Leave now before I shoot you!” Then he let himself drop to the ground, sobbing, and Anthea was at his side at once. He heard her sending the men away with a voice that demanded immediate obedience. John mumbled how sorry he was, and his voice was croaky from crying, and then he and Lestrade left him after patting his shoulders. He waited until he heard the front door shut behind them, then he came to his feet and sighed deeply. “Ladies, thank you for doing such a great job.” But it was not over yet. Their task would only be complete when Mycroft had faked his death as convincingly as Sherlock and Lucky had done. But he would have a lot less to do for that; in opposite to Sherlock he wouldn't have to fall on his head. It had really hurt him to watch that.

They talked for a while, and then he brought Martha to the door. The other two women would stay with him.

Martha embraced him and he kissed her on the cheek. “Thank you for everything, Martha.”

“I will miss you two so much,” she said with a broken voice. “Please take care of my boy and of yourself.”

“I will. That's my first priority. I will do all I can to make him happy every single day. And we won't forget you.”

“Perhaps, just perhaps, you could let me know that you reached your destination well…”

Mycroft thought about that for a moment. “Yes, we will do that. We'll find a way to let you know. I wish we could stay in touch, but it's too dangerous.”

“I understand that.” With a last hug, Martha Hudson left his house. She had one more thing to do for them, but she would do it from Baker Street.

He returned to the living room, where Molly and Anthea were sitting on the couch, holding hands. “Ladies, make me pretty now, please.”

Molly was up already. “I'll get the beauty box.”

*****

Two hours later, Mycroft looked into Anthea's eyes and hers were full of tears. It was time to say goodbye.

Both Lestrade and John had called several times, but after ignoring a few calls, Mycroft had answered with a very clear  _ fuck off _ to both of them, and then they had given it up. He was not happy at all about treating them like that, especially John, who seemed to be completely devastated about Sherlock's alleged death, but it was necessary. The doctor was probably at home now, crying his eyes out. Lestrade had driven around for a while, and then he had returned to the Yard, certainly dying to find Sherlock's killers. But they wanted Lestrade to come now, and he was on his way already after receiving a call from Martha, and he had tried again to reach Mycroft, who had ignored his calls. They knew exactly where he was because Anthea had placed a bug on his car while they had been waiting for the call of the Russian. Mycroft had just texted Sergey to come over now. He had been waiting with Igor in the other car Tony had organised, right around the corner. They had started driving to London right after finishing the call. Of course Mycroft had spoken with his lover, who had been rather shaken by what he had done, and he had complained about his aching head. Mycroft couldn't wait to kiss it better. But not yet. His final chapter as Mycroft Holmes still had to be written.

“Well, I don't know what to say, Anthea. Except for thank you. For all these years of loyalty and being there for me. You made my life at work a lot easier, and in these past weeks, you've been a tremendous support. I wish you and Molly all the best.”

He wasn't surprised when she slung her arms around his neck, very carefully so she wouldn't destroy Molly's efforts. “I will never forget you, sir. You were the best boss I could have asked for, and I like you so much. I hope that you and Sherlock will get very happy.”

“Mycroft, please. Sir is past now. And I'm sure that we will, as much as you two.”

He let her cry at his chest for a moment but then he pulled back. “I hear the car.” He went to Molly and thanked her as well.

“Take care of Sherlock, will you?” she said sadly.

“Of course. Always.”

He opened the door for Tony's men, and after shaking hands with them, he laid down on the stretcher of the ambulance. It was a more than strange feeling to do that, especially so soon after really having been carried to a hospital just weeks ago, but it had to be done. He closed his eyes while Molly did the last arrangements, and then he heard another car driving up in a fast pace. “And out now,” he said, and then he lay perfectly still while he was carried out of his house with his feet first.

“No, he can't be dead, too!” Lestrade screamed. Martha had told him that she had received a strange text from him with a confuse goodbye. And of course Mycroft had indeed sent this message, just in case Lestrade would want to see it.

He heard Anthea sob, and he knew that she hardly had to make that up. “He sent me a text, telling me that he can't live with his guilt, and I should take care of his body and the house. He took an overdose of Sherlock's sedative tablets, and he was already dead when we arrived.”

“But why did you leave him alone?!”

“He said he wanted to be on his own. You knew him, he didn’t accept a  _ no _ to his orders.”

“I can't believe it…” Mycroft felt that the sheet over his head was being removed, and he held his breath. It was dark, and he was sure that with Molly Hooper standing next to him, Greg Lestrade would not check if he was really dead. He would notice the dark shadows under his eyes and his extremely pale complexion and see what he expected to see. “God…” And for the first and last time, Mycroft heard the DI cry. And then he was lifted into the car and the door was closed behind him. Seconds later the ambulance started moving, and he knew it would bring him into his new life and to Sherlock. He felt himself finally relaxing on the surprisingly comfortable surface he was lying on, and he decided to take a nap until they had reached their destination. It was good to arrive there rested, as he was sure that Sherlock would be very happy to see him, no matter if he had a headache or not.

*****

“Sherlock, would you sit down, please? He will not arrive any sooner because you are running through the house like a caged tiger. You are making the dogs crazy.” But Oscar smiled indulgently and took Lucky on his lap.

“Yeah, I know that! But I can't sit still now either.” He had not spoken to Mycroft since his lover had faked his death for Lestrade. Sherlock knew that everything had worked out fine so far as Anthea had called him right after Mycroft had left his house, allegedly dead. Mycroft had not taken his brand new phone with him as it was a piece of evidence. Sherlock would give up his phone as well as soon as they left the country, his phone for Mycroft, as he had already left his official one in Baker Street. He had bought two expensive smartphones a week ago; they were in the bedroom of their home for the next almost two weeks. Really everything that was linked to their old lives had to be left behind.

“I'm sure that he will be here very shortly,” Tony said and tickled Bobby's huge head. “What an exciting day for you two, and it must be tough to put your friends and family through this.”

Sherlock had not thought too much about that. He did feel sorry for Martha and Anthea, and to a lesser degree, for Molly, as they had shown so much loyalty to him and Mycroft and would certainly miss them a lot. But Lestrade was a cop above all and he didn't consider him really a friend. And the friendship he'd had with John had long gone. Of course John would be terrified to have seen him die, but he would get over it soon enough. He had moved on with his life without Sherlock months ago. And his family? A man like Tony with his devotion to his daughter would not understand how far the former Holmes brothers had drifted away from their parents, let alone their other relatives. “They'll be fine,” he just answered and saw Tony throwing him a questioning look, but the Brazilian didn't ask any further questions.

Sherlock finally sat down and leaned his head against the backrest of the couch. Tony had put on a CD with joyful Brazilian music, and he closed his eyes and just listened, almost dozing off. A few minutes later he startled when Lucky yapped, jumped off Oscar's lap and ran out of the living room as fast as his short legs allowed him to.

“Oh, I guess his Daddy's coming,” the hacker said, winking to Sherlock.

He was up in a second and stalked to the corridor. The front door was opened up before he could do it, and a moment later he was in Mycroft's left arm, the right one was holding the dog that was eagerly licking his face.

“Hello, my two loves, the best actors in the world,” he said with a wide grin and kissed Sherlock tenderly. “Oh, your stubble looks nice!”

And now Sherlock could relax, finally facing the fact that they had succeeded. Molly and Anthea would make sure that Mycroft would be declared dead by suicide, and as a pathologist, Molly was able to get all paperwork done. Mycroft had left his will, written weeks ago, saying that all his belongings were Sherlock's, and in case he would have outlived him, Anthea's. He had also made sure that his dead body would be burnt and buried in a private ceremony so it would explain why there wouldn't be a public funeral. And Sherlock, well, with the video as a proof, he would be declared dead and a murder investigation had certainly already been opened by Scotland Yard. Of course they would never find anything as there was nothing to be found.

The house in which they would stay until their departure belonged to a family Tony had known for a long time; they were on extended holidays and had gladly allowed Tony, who had initiated and paid for these holidays, to stay for a few weeks. It was a great place to hide as there were no neighbours, and the ground was very secluded, protected from any sight by a lot of trees and bushes. So they could go into the big garden and get some air. Oscar and Tony would take the dogs out in a nearby park so they could run around more. In the end, the house would be cleaned up and there would be no trace of them. Igor and Sergey were going to return to Brazil the next day, and Tony, Oscar, Sherlock and Mycroft would follow them as soon as the Gormans would get their new passports, and Sherlock hoped his beard would grow very quickly so he could have his picture taken.

But now everything that was important was that Mycroft was here and their little family was complete again. Sherlock realised that despite the late hour, Mycroft was looking rather fresh. “Did you sleep in there?” he asked disbelievingly.

“Yes, I wanted to be awake at my arrival here,” Mycroft explained and Sherlock grinned.

“That was thoughtful of you! Let's go to bed then!”

Mycroft laughed. “Very soon. But let me speak to Oscar and Tony first, just very quickly.”

“Yes, of course. I will get ready in the bedroom. Don't be long!”

“I certainly won't!

Sherlock did accompany him to the living room, watching him embrace and thank both Oscar and Tony, but when he sat down to talk about the events of the evening, Sherlock bade their friends goodnight and went to the bedroom. He had showered before but freshened up nevertheless. It was strange that he couldn't shave and would probably never have a clean-shaven face again. But he kind of liked the idea of having a goatee. And the next morning, Tony would take care of his hair. He had said that he was quite a good barber, and Sherlock couldn't wait for him to cut off his curls. He was thinking of a nice undercut as this would probably change his appearance the most.

Now he went to the bedroom, got rid of the towel he had wrapped around his waist, took an anal plug, and after lying down comfortably, he started opening himself up with the help of the tasty blueberry lube, one of the few items he had taken with him. Along with the toy that Mycroft had given him of course. He did not plan to spend a single night without his now husband for the rest of his life, but they could still involve it in their play. When he was content that his arse was more than ready to take his lover's dick, he lay down on the side and closed his eyes.  _ A short nap might be indeed a good idea _ , he figured.

He woke up from the movement of the mattress and lifted his head. “Mycie…”

“Sorry, it took me a little longer than I thought. Still want to make love?”

“You're kidding, right? I prepared myself already, just hope that I'm still ready for you.” Sherlock gasped when he felt Mycroft's hand on his hole, a finger gently probing.

“I think you are. I need you now, God, I missed you so much today. This all was so tough, and seeing you and Lucky like that was awful.”

Sherlock smiled. “But you knew that it wasn't real!” He bit on his bottom lip when he felt Mycroft's dick pressing against his entrance.

“Yes, but still… What about your head at all? Sorry, I should have asked you right away!”

“My head is fine. And I managed to not break my nose when I fell on my fucking face. Ooh…”

“Am I hurting you?” Mycroft stopped moving in him at once.

“No, God, go on…”

He felt his heart race when the big boner was sliding further into him, pulling back, thrusting again with slow, deliberate movements. Sherlock's own dick was rock hard now, and he closed his fingers around it and started fucking his hand with every stroke of Mycroft's hips. “I shouldn’t come on the linen,” he whispered. “I don't want to have to change it every night in somebody else's house.”

“Of course. Very nice of you. But I could come in you and clean you up when it flows out, and you just won't come at all, what do you think?”

“I think that’s a nasty and very selfish idea,” Sherlock mumbled.

“Oh really? I guess that's because I'm Mark now, he's sort of a macho, you know - just like the Brazilian men.” He continued with his soft, almost teasing strokes, and it felt divine.

“I liked Mycie better. He was much nicer.”

Mycroft laughed into his ear. “The Iceman was nicer? God, Mark must be a real arsehole!”

“He is if he wants to leave me unsatisfied,” Sherlock insisted.

“Alright, then he should reconsider that. So where do you want to come if not on the bed? On your stomach? Shooting against the ceiling?”

“In Mark's mouth,” Sherlock whispered and then moaned again when his prostate was hit by a well-aimed stroke.

“Oh, I'm afraid that's out of the question. Mycroft may have done such perverse things, but Mark is not available for it.”

“I hate Mark! I want a divorce!”

“Oh, don't say such evil things! He's sensitive!” Another one of these wonderful strokes followed.

“Fuck, if you hit it again, I will come over the bed in two seconds.”

“Alright, you are a bit difficult tonight.” Mycroft pulled his dick out and Sherlock mumbled a protest.

But he shut up at once when Mycroft's lips closed around his throbbing member and a very capable tongue slid under his foreskin and licked in circles around the knob, and then Mycroft swallowed him down to the root. He couldn't even warn Mycroft before he came, so fast and powerful he was hit by his orgasm. He couldn't help but screaming when he seemed to be torn apart by the convulsions, and the spurts he shot into his man's mouth seemed to be stronger than ever; he was literally flooding the warm cave his dick was buried in. He heard Mycroft gasp and swallow and the sound made him come even harder.

“Oh,” was all he was able to say when his body had stopped spurting, but he was still shivering.

Mycroft swallowed for the last time, and in the dark room Sherlock could see him lick his lips. “Damn, really, you know how to hit back!”

Sherlock giggled and then moaned again when he felt Mycroft's lips and tongue on his softening dick again, apparently making sure to find even the last remains of cum on it.

“So, now that we have finished that…”

Sherlock, who was feeling like having been run over by a bus, was gently pushed onto his side, and then Mycroft's dick entered him again. His hand grabbed his hip and he started thrusting harder and harder and then he came with a cry as loud as Sherlock's. He did catch the fluids that were running out of Sherlock's hole after he had pulled his cock out, but he didn't use a tissue…

Sherlock closed his eyes, feeling warm and happy and satisfied and whimpered in joy when he was pulled back in a very tight embrace. “Seems Mark has been converted into being a pervert very quickly.”

“Yes, well, he seems to be quite the connoisseur. A cum connoisseur.”

Both of them giggled, and Sherlock turned around to face Mycroft. “I love you, honey. It's all done now, well, almost all, and I'm so happy. I can't wait to enter the plane.”

“Wouldn't it be funny if it crashed? Some people would be very surprised if they identified our DNA.”

“Mycroft! Don't make such jokes!”

Mycroft kissed his forehead. “Sorry. It will be wonderful. And I love you, too, baby, but I'm telling you nothing new with that I hope.”

“But I still love to hear it.”

“Oh, me too. And I love to say it. I will say it every day.”

“So will I. And we will make love every day.”

“Well…”

“Mycroft!”

He laughed. “Alright, yes, every day, as long as this old man is capable of it.”

“But Mark is three years younger, don't forget that.”

“That's true. Do you think they heard us?”

“Of course. We both screamed so loudly that it would have woken up the dead. Oscar will hear it all day and night in Brazil then if the walls are not thick enough, so he can as well get used to it while we're here.”

“He might consider moving to another house.”

“I don't think so. He likes us. He was so great today, and not only today.”

“Yes, I thank God that we met him.”

“And Tony.”

“Yes, of course. Without them, we wouldn't be here now, and we wouldn't have the future that we are facing.” Finally he searched for Sherlock's mouth and they kissed sweetly for several minutes. Sherlock moved to Mycroft as close as he could and slung a leg around his, reaching for having the most possible body contact. It was Mycroft who broke the kiss and carefully disentangled their legs. “Sherlock, do you mind if I made light for a moment?”

“No, go ahead.” He blinked and shielded his eyes when Mycroft switched the light on. He heard him rummaging in the drawer.

“Oscar told me he had put them there,” he said when he lay down again, in his hand the case with their rings.

“Oh, yes, let's put them on. I will never take it off again.”

“You won't have to. But if that's okay with you, I will keep the other one on as well.”

“Why would I mind? It's also dedicated to me.”

Mycroft looked into his eyes and smiled. “Give me your hand.” And he slipped the ring over Sherlock's left ring finger once more. “My husband, my love, forever,” he said simply.

Sherlock looked at his finger, and his eyes got wet. Then he took Mycroft's ring and put him over his matching finger. “My husband, my love, forever,” he repeated Mycroft's words and kissed him. And with a solemn tone in voice he added: “May you always swallow my cum.”

Mycroft laughed out loud and embraced him tightly. “That's a wish I'll fulfil with pleasure, honey. I love you so much.”

Sherlock kissed him once more. “And I love you. And that will never change.”


	37. Epilogue 1 - Eight months later, fifty-three kilometres north of Paraty, Brazil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will post today the last three chapters - 3 epilogues, the first one set in Brazil, eight months after they left England. The second one is a glimpse on the life of the people they have left behind, and the third one will show how our boys are doing 5 years later.

“Well, seems the trap is set, good job, boys,” Tony said with a last look at the laptop and straightened up, his hand still on Oscar's shoulder. “Who wants to enter the pool before I start with the barbecue?”

“The vegan barbecue,” Oscar said with a grin.

“Well, of course.” He narrowed his black eyes. “There's nothing wrong with that!”

“Don't shoot me!” Oscar giggled. “But I don't feel like swimming now, I want to do some more digging.”

“Mycroft?”

“No, thank you, I'm just sitting so comfortably.” And he was. Tony's garden chairs were perfect, just as anything in his house. Mycroft was holding a glass of water with a piece of melon, and he was relaxing in the shadow on Tony's huge veranda. He had get used to the humid Brazilian heat rather quickly, but he still avoided being in the burning sun. Sherlock had bought him a Sombrero, and whenever Mycroft wore it, he almost died from laughing. Usually this ended with a severe punishment, containing very wet kisses and some tickling. Suffice to say that the punishment always led to hot sex.

“Okay, then Sherlock, Nina and I will have all the fun.”

“I can live with that,” Mycroft assured him and watched the big man leave to join his daughter and Mycroft's husband in his huge pool - about fifty metres away and hidden by some bushes. While he was walking, he was getting rid of his white muscle shirt and his sandals.

“You shouldn't tease him with his barbecue,” Mycroft said to Oscar, who was still staring at his laptop. “I was very sceptical at first, but I really don't mind living vegan now.” He knew that this was good for his heart, and it had helped him finally getting rid of this last, small but persistent ring of fat on his stomach. This and the almost daily training. He would never look as sculpted as Sherlock, but he felt ten years younger now. And with the full head of black hair he had thanks to the hair-transplant, he did look a lot younger than he was. He thought so at least, and Sherlock told him the same so it had to be true.

“I don't mind, either,” Oscar admitted. He had been the last of the three men to change his eating habits. Tony had not forced them to do that. But dedicating their lives to the protection of animals wasn't really compatible with eating meat. “Just sometimes… I would like to throw some nice sausages on the grill.”

“But you can! They will just consist of tofu or seitan!”

“Yes,” Oscar sighed. “Anyway, I guess I'm done for today. Can't wait to get this bastard. All of those bastards!”

Mycroft could only agree. They had been working a lot since they had left England. Oscar was very busy untangling the webs of organised poaching in the dark net. Sherlock used his detective skills to find out more about the targets online when Oscar had identified them, and then they lured them into a trap so they would face legal charges as they were working with the authorities to some degree. Oscar and Mycroft had learned Portuguese; Sherlock had already spoken the language quite well. Mycroft had debated hours with Tony about strategies to take his efforts to the good side of the law without endangering the organisation, and to work on the problems on a deeper level. They had created an official foundation with young men and women visiting schools and parks to teach the children and youths about the importance of protecting all kinds of animals. Another string of the organisation built up more shelters all over Brazil, especially the metropoles, and yet another one constantly looked for wealthy people who not only gave money for their work but also supported them publicly. There was so much to do, so much to organise, so much to change for the better. And Tony's men on the base still killed poachers when they met them, mostly in self-defence even though Mycroft doubted that from time to time. But his sympathy for the men who scrupulously killed protected and helpless animals was very small. They disappeared in the depths of the jungle, and Mycroft didn't shed a tear about them.  And he was very aware that the government didn't either.

He could honestly say that coming to Brazil - leaving everything behind - had been the second best decision of his life. The best one would always remain getting together with Sherlock. They were Mark and Steve whenever they went outside - which rarely happened as none of them was overly fond of leaving their house, except for being at Tony's house like today, but it was only a few hundred metres away from their new home. When they were alone or with Oscar, Tony and Nina, they were still Mycroft (or Mycie) and Sherlock. Or  _ darling _ ,  _ honey _ ,  _ love _ or whatever pet name they chose to use.

Both their looks had changed a lot; while Mycroft had become a tanned, full-haired, slim, trained man whose appearance easily matched the birthdate in his new passport, Sherlock was getting more buff with every passing week; his hair was shaven on the sides and short on the top of his head, his black goatee was fully grown and gave his face a completely different shape. His pale complexion was past; the Brazilian sun had tanned him as much as Mycroft. Only his incredible eyes, his prominent cheekbones and his kissable lips were still pure Sherlock. He was a lot less sarcastic because there was nobody who deserved his sarcasm; he had grown into their strange new family and had become sort of a cousin for Tony's pert daughter, who even shared his dark sense of humour. She was mature beyond her age of sixteen years in certain ways. And sometimes just an annoying teenager, but Sherlock didn’t seem to mind too much when she talked endlessly about a Brazilian pop star. He just blanked her out then and had eye sex with Mycroft.

Mycroft was amazed that he loved him more with every day. They talked more than ever, they knew each other better than ever, and their sex was better than ever. The walls of their house - it had been the house of Tony's parents until they had died years ago - were thick enough, so they didn't have to fear to disturb Oscar with their love-making, and Mycroft thought that there was not a single part of their huge flat that had not seen them fucking or sucking. He was happier than he had ever dared dream to be.

The clicking of claws let both men turn around. “Ah, boys, you finished your nap,” Oscar said with a grin and held his hand out for his two dogs, that started licking it at once.

Mycroft bent down to Lucky, played with his ears and smiled at him. “How's it going, little man? Shushed away by the evil three?” He was waiting for the day when Lucky would answer him; it wouldn't surprise him at all. Lucky seemed to be all happy in his new home, always surrounded by his big friends; there was always a dog biscuit waiting for him when they visited Tony and Nina, and he was almost cuddled to death by the girl. The only things he feared were the three big cats in Tony's house. Esmeralda, Lucia and El Capo were all rather nasty creatures when it came to dogs. All of them had been rescued and claimed the house for themselves. Mycroft had been a little hesitant to make friends with them, but it had turned out that they were very fond of being stroked by anyone who didn't bark, and sometimes all three of them were lying on his lap, and he found it very relaxing to cuddle with them and listen to their endless purring, even though he usually suffered some scratches. Sherlock loved to kiss them better later.

Instead of answering him, Lucky spat out the small ball he had been carrying with him, and Mycroft threw it for him for quite some time while he was talking to Oscar. But then Lucky ran away, and Mycroft knew that Sherlock had to be on his way to the house. And then he appeared along with Tony and Nina, all wet and happy and flushed from swimming and playing water ball.

Mycroft could just stare at Sherlock, and he hoped he wasn't drooling. His husband’s black hair was glistening from water, and so was his muscular body; he was only wearing small, black swim shorts and he was smiling widely at him before bending down to touch the dog. Next to him was Tony - all dark skin, white teeth, huge muscles and chest hair, and, Mycroft had to admit it, a really great arse… And beside him was his teenage daughter in a rather decent white bikini, showing nevertheless that she was physically already a full-grown woman.  She had the stunning, dark looks of her father and long, black hair. Neither Tony nor Nina ever talked about her mother, so Mycroft had no idea what had happened to her, but the girl looked like a female version of Tony. Mycroft turned his head and caught the look he had expected. Oscar was trying to hide it, but he had watched his reaction several times already.

“Go ahead, Oscar,” he quietly said. “Just make a move.” The three were still out of hearing.

“What?” Oscar blushed. The hacker was almost always inside the house and only slightly tanned, so his embarrassment was very visible. But he had worked out a lot along with Mycroft and Sherlock, and wasn't that skinny nerd they had once met anymore. His hair was ruffled in a stylish way, he was wearing contact lenses instead of thick glasses, and he looked pretty handsome. “No,” he protested. “You know I can't. I'm afraid Tony wouldn't be delighted at all and I don't want to risk his friendship. And God knows what Nina would say…”

“I understand that, but I think you're worrying without a reason.”

“Please, don't torture me, and don't say a word!” Oscar begged, and Mycroft smiled.

“Sorry, I'll shut up.” But he would discuss it with Sherlock, who had also noticed Oscar's interest in the past weeks.

Now Sherlock, Tony and the girl had reached the veranda.

“Hi boys, Tony said you did a really good job.” Sherlock bent down to Mycroft and kissed him on the mouth. His lips tasted like chlorine, ice-tea and pure Sherlock, and Mycroft's shorts got a little tight around the crotch.

“Yes, while you had fun in the pool, we were working.” He gently touched Sherlock's cheek, and Sherlock gave him another peck.

“Good, that's how it should be. Would you mind going inside and… helping me with something?”

Oscar laughed. “Wow, that was really eloquent! You could have just said...” But then he looked at Nina and broke off and blushed again.

She rolled her eyes. “As if I didn't know what he meant…”

Tony shook his head but he grinned. “Everybody here knows what you're about, Sherlock. The guest room is all yours. But hurry up, I'll soon need your help with the barbecue!”

“Oh, I can do that,” Oscar offered.

“All I meant was putting new balm on this bloody mosquito bite on my back!” Sherlock growled.

Mycroft stood up. “My poor, misunderstood baby. Tony, you got some balm for him? I'm afraid I didn't bring ours.”

“Sure, it's in the upstairs bathroom.”

They went inside, and Mycroft took a look at Sherlock's back when the younger man entered the living room first, forcing himself not to stare at this impossibly round butt instead. “It's hardly visible anymore - it can't still itch,” he stated.

“Of course it doesn't. I wanted to be sucked off by you.”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “And you are sure that you can't wait until we are in our house?”

“No! We will go home in a few  _ hours _ !” Sherlock was all flaming protest, and the growing bulge in his wet swim shorts spoke for itself.

“Alright, let's go into the guest room then. By the way, did you see Oscar's look?”

“Sure. Poor guy. We should talk to him.”

“I actually just did. But he blushed like a schoolgirl and said he couldn't do anything.”

“Nonsense. I know that his desires are reciprocated. He's not the only one with hungry eyes.”

“And probably not the only one who is afraid of making the first step. It would certainly be the first time for both, so to speak.”

“I guess so. I will talk to Tony.”

“But be careful with what you say!”

“You know me, I'm Mr Diplomatic! Why are you laughing now?”

Mycroft shook his head, grinning widely. “Alright, in there.” When he had closed the door and turned around to Sherlock, he had already pulled down his shorts and his erection stared at Mycroft proudly and eager to be taken care of. He was on his knees in a second and immediately swallowed the big thing down, then started sucking at it with loud, slurping noises that were accompanied by Sherlock's moans. He wondered for a moment if the others were still outside, but somehow the knowledge that they all knew what they were doing (as he doubted that they had really bought Sherlock's story, especially because applying balm on a single bite didn't take as long as a blowjob) turned him on even more. The hand that wasn't busy massaging Sherlock's balls slid into his trousers and started taking care of his own need. He fucked his own hand while Sherlock was fucking his mouth. It didn’t take long until Sherlock emptied himself down his throat, and after a couple of seconds Mycroft was pulled up and kissed and then Sherlock got on his knees to return the favour. Half a minute later Sherlock was lapping devotedly over his swollen knob, licking up every last drop of cum. Then he stood up and with a grimace he put the wet shorts on again.

“Why didn’t you remind me of bringing my trousers in here?” he complained.

Mycroft put his own trousers in place again. “Because that would have looked even more suspicious!”

Both of them laughed and went into the bathroom to freshen up and gargle with water.

“It's a shame - I would have loved to keep your taste,” Sherlock said when they were walking outside to the others.

“I'll make sure that you fall asleep with it tonight,” Mycroft promised him.

“But what if I want to have your cum in my arse instead when we come home?”

“Sherlock…”

“What then?” he insisted.

“Then I will make sure that it lands there,” Mycroft answered through gritted teeth.

Tony turned around. “What will land where?” They had reached their host, who was just putting some vegetables on the grill. He was dressed with a black shirt and red shorts now. Oscar was still sitting on his chair with Nina at his side; he was pointing at the display of his laptop, apparently explaining something to her, and she was looking at him admiringly.

Mycroft could feel his cheeks blush, and Tony grinned. “Oh. Forget the question.”

“Can I help you with anything?” Mycroft changed the subject, while shooting a glare at Sherlock who just smiled and winked and then walked over to Oscar and Nina.

“No, the preparations are all done,” Tony said. “My girl and Oscar cut the vegetables.”

“I will do the dishes after dinner,” Mycroft promised.

“Ah, no need for that. It's great to have you here.”

“We are here every second day!”

“Yes, and I love it. Not only because you three are such a gift for my work, but because you have brought so much life into my and Nina's life. It's great for her to meet such intelligent, interesting men, and I don't even have to fear that either of you could spoil her if you know what I mean.”

“Well, I wouldn't say that…” Mycroft saw Tony slightly raise his eyebrows, and hurried to add: “No, I mean, Sherlock might spoil her with his… desire for me. And well, I can't resist him…”

Tony just laughed. “Oh, don't worry about that. Nina was raised to be acceptant - not only tolerant - of gay people. I have no problem with some naughty hints or kisses. It's good that she sees your true love, if you forgive me that clichéd expression. She hasn't seen too much of that before in her life.” He sounded rather melancholic all at once.

Mycroft knew that Sherlock had planned to talk to Tony. But now he had the opportunity, and as much as he loved, adored and cherished his husband, he didn't put too much trust in his subtlety. “You know, I would like to speak with you about something personal; I did promise him not to actually, but Sherlock and I think that somebody has to do it…”

“Oscar,” Tony said with a nod. “Yes, I… noticed it.”

“And what do you think about it?” Mycroft asked carefully, glad that he didn't even have to explain it to the big man. “I sense that his feelings are not that unwelcome…”

Tony shrugged. “I don't know. I… do like him a lot, but that… is scary…”

“Well, I can imagine that it's not easy for you.”

“No, it's not. What if it doesn't work?”

“But what if it does?”

Tony smiled. “You're right. Maybe it's worth a try.”

“Love is always worth a try. Believe an expert,” he added with a lot of self-irony.  _ The expert that had not dared try anything for two bloody decades… _

“It still amazes me how you got together. How you made it work for months, hiding it from everybody.”

_ Well, not quite everybody, mainly thanks to Sherlock's loose tongue and carelessness _ … “It was hard, very hard.”

“And now you're here, having left your entire life behind. I totally admire your courage.”

“It was worth it, Tony. It took us twenty years to realise that it takes courage to have what you've always dreamt of. And all I regret now is not having done it much earlier.”

“Okay, I know our situation can't be compared to yours; ours is much easier actually. I just don't know about Nina… But alright, I will talk to Oscar.”

“Just take it easy, have a drink together, just you and him. And then show him that you like him. I can assure you that he likes you every bit as much. He's just scared as well.” But he was dying to get close to Tony, that was clear as day. “Nina will be fine because Oscar is like a funny big brother to her. And I would be surprised if she didn't already know that you like each other. So take heart and ask him out.”

“I will. And I guess I can count on you two if I need some advice?” He blushed a little. “I mean, especially when it comes to delicate matters…”

“Of course you can!”

Tony came over to him and hugged him. “Thanks Mycroft. You are a real friend.”

Mycroft was feeling touched, and he returned the embrace. Yes, Sherlock and he had found great friends in Tony, Oscar, and Nina. They had a wonderful home and were doing some really important work. Nothing was left of the Sherlock who had hated solving cases in the end. He did a different job here, but he still used his skills, and so did Mycroft, and since it was for a very good purpose, both of them were devoted to it. But most of all they did that because they were doing it together. Their life was as perfect as it could be expected. He felt graced by all he had but especially by Sherlock's huge love for him - that he returned with all of his being.

Just sometimes he wondered how the people they had left behind were doing. Sherlock didn't seem to care at all, but Mycroft would have liked to know how Anthea was feeling about her new job and how her relationship with Molly Hooper had developed, how their parents had reacted to the alleged death of their two sons, if Mrs Hudson had taken new lodgers for 221B, how Greg Lestrade was coping with his job and his private life, and if John Watson had really found his luck with his now wife and two children. And simply how they all were feeling about having lost Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes - whether they knew about their true fate or not.


	38. Epilogue 2 - The next day, England

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is not about Mycroft and Sherlock but about the people they have left behind. Not all is very cheerful!

Anthea walked into her office and put her handbag on the desk. It was eight in the morning, and she was tired from the weekend. Molly and she had visited John and his wife for a drink at their house, and it had been rather late when they had come home.

With a sigh, she sat down at her desk and started her computer. The room was silent, and she reached out to put on the radio.

“Miss Hunter, could you come into my office for a moment?” her boss startled her. Dr Winger always moved so quietly that Anthea didn't hear her coming. Probably it made her day to spook everybody…

“Yes, ma’am.” She got up and followed the grey-haired woman.

“Sit down, please.”

“Dr Winger, I know what you are about but…”

“No, Anthea, I don't want to hear your excuses again. You are my secretary, and you don't have the competence to judge such a situation. It is your job to…”

“He had beaten her up again, what was I supposed to do!”

“Talk to me, and trust me that I'll do what the best is, taking all the circumstances into consideration.”

“Yes, like last time,” Anthea mumbled.

“What was that?” 

She sounded like her old mathematics teacher, Anthea thought. She had hated that bloody old witch. “Nothing. I will not do it again.”

The elder woman sighed. “I know that you are a very smart person. And I guess that you worked very independently in your former profession. But you'll need to follow the rules.”

“Yes, ma’am. It will not happen again,” she assured her once more, forcing a smile onto her face.

Dr Winger didn't look as if she really believed her, but she dismissed her with a nod to the door and looked at her computer.

Anthea left the office and slowly walked into her own. When she had sat down, she stared at the screen, not moving. She wasn't in the mood for music anymore.

The job had sounded so interesting and important, and certainly the work of  _ Women for Women _ was all that, but Anthea missed being allowed to make her own decisions. Of course she had been a PA before, but her boss had relied on her tremendously and had always encouraged her to use her brain.

God, how much she missed him. Much more than she had ever expected. Not only because he had always cherished her work and her loyalty, her toughness and her ability to judge situations. She had realised months ago that she had loved him. Not in a sexual way - in the end she was a lesbian woman and he a gay man. But she had always looked through his Iceman shield and seen the man behind it.

Long before Mycroft had found his love and luck in Sherlock, she had known that something was weighing on his soul, that he was longing for someone or something he thought he couldn't have. The truth had daunted on her when Sherlock had returned from Serbia, and they had been together in Mycroft's office. She could remember how Mycroft's lips had tightened when his brother had shown so much interest in the fate of John Watson.

Sherlock had always been his weak spot; his care and fear for him had had enormous influence on his mood and how he had behaved. When everything was alright with Sherlock, he had been rather cool and had worked flawlessly, even though he had never seemed to be happy. But when his younger brother had been in trouble, he had sometimes been very absent-minded and down. Of course even then he had been a hundred times smarter and more efficient than anybody else, but the feelings of anxiety, anger and sadness had shown through. Whenever he had been brusque and more melancholic than usual, she had known that something was wrong with Sherlock. Nevertheless she had been extremely surprised when he had sent her to more or less kidnap Dr Watson so many years ago. She should have realised already then that he did not only fear that the man could have a bad influence on his labile sibling, but that he was jealous of him having apparently won Sherlock's heart.

But when she had seen them together after Sherlock's return, she had indeed understood that what Mycroft felt for him was far beyond brotherly concern. It had shocked her - not because she had found it disgusting or immoral, but because she had been easily able to imagine how much her boss had to suffer from this unreturned and in any way doomed feelings. From Sherlock's behaviour towards him that day, she would have never thought that he loved his brother, too. Apparently even her smart boss had not seen it.

And then, all this time later, Mycroft had come back to work - from his first time being sick since she had known him - a different man. He’d had this aura of being loved but not really being able to believe it, so she had known that this relationship was at a very early stage. And since it had been Sherlock who had texted her that Mycroft would stay away from the office - last but not least from her boss’s phone - there had not been much doubt that something had happened between them.

Mycroft had changed so much over the next months. He had been very obviously happy, and there had been signs that he was having lot of sex. There had been no visible marks or anything, but sometimes his lips had been swollen and that smile he had all at once carried on Monday mornings had said it all, as well as his sparkling eyes when he had been texting. The effect on her had been that he had become a lot nicer to her; he had always appreciated her abilities, but now he had shown much more emotion. And she had grown into not only admiring and respecting him but really liking him. She would always remember the moment when he had kicked that arsehole who had hurt the little dog and the moment when they had met Sherlock in Baker Street right after it. There had been so much love in the air that it had been very difficult for her pretending to not have seen it. As she had told Sherlock, the image of them having sex with each other had been a great turn-on for her. So apparently she had seen her boss as a sexual being, albeit in a very twisted way. But she had not been jealous of Sherlock, only fascinated by their deep, forbidden love.

And now Mycroft was gone - dead to the world, in reality somewhere far away, alive and hopefully very happy. It had hurt her that he had not shared with her where he and Sherlock would go, what they were up to, and that he had not suggested staying in touch. But she understood that they had felt the need to completely leave their former lives behind, for safety- and emotional reasons.

Her work had really begun after the men had faked their deaths. She could not just pretend to have the government investigate on Sherlock's alleged killing. Lestrade would never accept that, and the press would ask questions as well, which would have gotten her in deep trouble with her superiors. Mycroft's confidant had made sure that the email address the false kidnappers had used led to nothing and that it was not possible to find out where the crime scene was. But for the sake of Lestrade and John and - in her eyes - the Holmes brothers' parents, there had to be a solution someday soon, and she had been prepared for it. The only way had been to do what Albert Scott had done with Mycroft - placing wrong evidence. Only a week after Sherlock's  _ death _ , there had been an opportunity when the arresting of several Russian gangsters had led to the death of the men. It had been very easy to exchange the card of the mobile of one of them with the one she had received from one of the false paramedics who had carried Mycroft away. She had chosen one who had an equal height as the guy who had played the killer. Of course they would never find out the motive or the house Sherlock had been killed in. But in any way the case was closed.

She had received an email two weeks after she had seen Mycroft disappearing in that ambulance, coming from Uncle Bill, telling her that her cousin Ralph and his girlfriend Martha had rescued two dogs named Lazy and Russ. She did have an uncle named Bill, but her cousin Ralph didn’t have a girlfriend and he didn't like dogs - he didn't like anything or anyone in fact. She had known the email was coming from Mycroft or Sherlock, and that she was supposed to tell Mrs Hudson that everything was fine with them. They had risen from the dead like Lazarus. She had not called Sherlock's former landlady but had dropped by at Baker Street after work. And then she and the old lady had cried together - happy to hear that they were doing well, and sad about having them lost forever.

Anthea had not tried to find out where the email had been sent from. After witnessing Mycroft giving the PM the proof of Albert Scott's guilt, that he could have only received from a very talented hacker, she had known it would have been useless. And she respected their decision to disappear without a trace.

Later that day, she had met Molly, and had told her the same, and there had been more tears. And after the tears, there had been kisses and touches and tenderness. It was kind of ironic that she was in love with a woman who had been unhappily in love with Sherlock Holmes for years, while she had loved his brother.

Molly was the best that could have happened to her. Without Sherlock, she would have never gotten to know her, and any touch of equally silly and senseless resentment she might have felt towards him for taking Mycroft from her life, faded in the light of the gratefulness to him for having brought Molly into it. Whatever happened in her professional life, she would consider herself very lucky, and she would never let Molly go again. She had met Molly's parents and her brother months ago, and everybody had been very nice to her. She was feeling like being part of Molly's family, and she loved the feeling. All in all, she was happy. But she knew that she would never forget the man who had been Mycroft Holmes - the Iceman with the heart of gold.

Her phone was ringing. “ _ Women for Women _ , good morning, you are speaking with Anthea Hunter.”

There was silence on the other end.  _ “Hello,” _ came a croaky voice after more than twenty seconds. Anthea had learned not to ask who was there, to wait patiently until the abused, frightened woman, who had finally found the courage to call for help, would start the conversation.  _ “I… need help.” _

“We are here for you,” Anthea answered softly.

*****

“Would you like more tea, dear?”

She realised that she had stared into nowhere for minutes, blanking her newspaper-reading husband out completely. Her tea had grown cold in the meantime. “No, thank you. I'm fine.”  _ Fine _ . What a word. In fact she was dead. Dead like her two sons, but still bound to the physical world.

She had not cried now for a full day - a new record. But not because the pain had become more bearable but because she was tired of shedding tears. Tears of pain and regret and bitterness. They had lost their sons weeks before they had died. Before somebody had kidnapped her younger son and killed him because her older son had not been allowed by the police to sacrifice himself to save him.

As long as she still had to live, she wouldn't forget the moment when Mycroft's beautiful, young assistant and the grey-haired detective inspector had told them what had happened. She had just been sitting next to the fire, silent and numb. She had heard her husband cry and scream, but she had been feeling as if she had just died herself. The tears had come later, and then they hadn't stopped for months. The fact that the young woman had come to them again to tell them that they had found and shot the men who had killed her sons - because for her they had murdered Mycroft as well as Sherlock - had not eased her pain. She had felt no satisfaction, no comfort. It wouldn't bring her boys back.

She would never get over it. Not over losing them to death, and not over not having been able to get their forgiveness before they had died. She and their father had failed them, and she just didn't know how to live with this guilt.

“You should get ready now, dear. The car will be here very shortly.” He sounded concerned and sad.

She nodded and got up. She had not even touched her breakfast. Over the last months, she had lost a lot of weight as she had no appetite. If her husband had not cooked, she wouldn't have eaten anything at all. The worst part of the day was the evening. When everything was done, when there was no use in working in the garden, when all that was waiting for her was the telly, she would go into one of her boys' old rooms. And wished so much she hadn't changed them into guest rooms, erasing everything that could have reminded her of how the rooms had looked when they had been teenagers. Sherlock's had always resembled a miniature laboratory; he had experimented with the most awful things, and she had admonished him all the time to clean up and not turn the house into a war zone. She had really given him a hard time, always. He had seemed so strange to her, especially after Eurus' alleged death, when he had turned to be so quiet, so moody, so  _ dark _ . It had been so difficult for her to accept that her sweet, beautiful boy had developed into someone so unbearable. She had hoped it would change - and it had, but for the worse. When he had started to become a man, he had been so depressed, so withdrawn, so untouchable in every sense of the word. And she had given him up - she could admit it now.

And Mycroft? He had been a sweet child as well, but then he had become so overweight and so unhappy about it. She had always encouraged him to do sports, and he had tried his best, but it had seemed that with every pound he had lost, he had become colder and more arrogant. She had not gotten through to him at all anymore, and in the end she had left their children more or less to themselves, besides fulfilling their basic needs of having warm meals and fitting clothes and the best school education possible. Mycroft had been right at this horrible birthday party. She had failed them. They would have needed so much more. And their father? He had never really shown any real interest in them. When they had been grown-ups, smart and in Mycroft's case successful, in Sherlock's fascinating to him in some ways, he had been a lot warmer. But it had been much too late then.

Very slowly she picked up her handbag and followed her husband outside. Time to face reality once more.

An hour later they approached the cell with the only child that had been left for them. Eurus. The woman who had murdered so many people. Who had not spoken a single word after having been brought back to her cell. Even before their huge loss, she had hardly endured being here, trying to talk to somebody who was just staring at them with cold, empty eyes and this never-ending, scary smile. Sometimes she had played on her violin, ignoring them completely.

It was the first time that they were visiting her after their lives had been torn apart. She had just not been able to come here. She would still not be there if her husband hadn't insisted on it. A very unsympathetic-sounding woman had told them that they could still go to Sherrinford, that she would send them a helicopter.

Now Eurus was staring at them with her huge eyes; her usual small, mysterious smile on her lips when she looked at her father who was carrying a small package.

“Hello, girl. I hope that you are doing well. We have brought you some chocolate.” He put it into the hatch.

She looked at her daughter, feeling hopeless and defeated. That was it. That was her family: her husband - broken like herself - the only child a heartless creature that would be locked away forever.

Eurus came closer to the glass. “How are you?” A quiet voice, croaky from not being used for about a year.

“Dear God, she's talking!” The old man was tumbling, his eyes wide open. “Eurus!”

She saw her daughter smile, but her eyes were as cold as ice.

“You let me wait long.” Eurus' voice was sending shudders through her body.

“Yes, we are so terribly sorry. We… have to tell you something…” Father Holmes voice was breaking.

“About my brothers?”

“Oh God, yes… They are dead, Eurus, both of them!”

“Dead?”

“Yes,” her mother finally said, breaking her silence. “Sherlock - he was murdered, and Mycie - he followed him.”

Eurus stared at them, her pale-blue eyes opened widely. And all at once she bent her head back and started to laugh. She lifted her hands, ruffled her long hair, and laughed and laughed.

“Oh God,” Father stuttered, tears running down his cheeks, and he grabbed for her hand.

And now her knees got weak, she pulled her hand out of his, and then she fell on the ground and cried.

*****

Martha Hudson opened the door of Baker Street 221, and slowly stepped into the house. She was carrying a heavy bag with all the things she would need for the next few days. When she passed by the stairs to 221B, she stopped, as always. Looked upstairs. There was no noise, no smell. Her lodgers were very neat, very decent men. 

She’d had quite a few contenders for the flat. It was pretty central, and not expensive. In the end a young, male couple had moved in. One of them was a teacher at a nearby middle school, the other one worked in a bank. Really friendly, reliable men - very polite, never loud, and very much keeping to themselves when they were at home. Now they were both at work.

She entered her flat and went straight to the kitchen to store the cheese and the butter she had bought into the fridge. Then she filled the kettle and waited for the water to boil. With the cup of black tea, she sat down at her kitchen table. All in silence.

It was her eightieth birthday. There would not be a big party; she had invited her bridge club girls to the café, and hopefully she would have a pleasant afternoon with them, and that would be it. She didn't feel like having a big celebration. With whom? John Watson was occupied with his newborn son and his little daughter, and she didn't see much of him anymore, and she had hardly had any contact to Molly Hooper and her girlfriend lately. The two women had their own life with full-time jobs and a still fresh relationship. Who else was left? Sherlock was gone.

She missed him so much. Her boy. The son she had never been graced with. Mycroft had kept his promise to let her know that they had reached their destination in good health. But that was the last she would ever hear from the men who had been the Holmes brothers. Who were now husbands, somewhere far away. She just knew that they were happy now. Sherlock had achieved what he had wanted: a life with the man he loved without having to hide, without having to play a role that was no longer fitting. She was so happy for him, but her heart was broken.

Perhaps she should get herself a pet. A nice little dog like Lucky, whom she missed so much as well. Or a friendly cat she could cuddle with, which would lie on her lap in the evening. Yes, she would do that. She nodded and grabbed for her cup.

She did have a nice afternoon. Two hours of drinking coffee, eating too much cake and chatting about the naughtiness of Mrs Turner, the alcohol problems of Mr Sands, and the unpredictable moods of Mr Edgar Marbles. She laughed and forgot her sorrows. But too soon the other women headed home. All of them had husbands or partners who were waiting for them, a lot of things to do, and in some cases grandchildren to watch over.

And so she returned to her lonely flat. Sat down in a chair in her living room, turning on the telly. Watched a silly show. And like every day, her thoughts returned to Sherlock, this young man who had turned her life upside down. With his stinking experiments and the strange people who visited his flat in search for help. Who had been so fascinating, so strange, so different. She had seen his flaws, oh yes. His arrogance, his coldness towards other people. His manipulating, selfish persona. But she had always seen what was underneath of that. A hurt, lonely man who was desperately trying to cover his inner self from the nasty world outside. Who was carrying a weight on his shoulders that nobody except her seemed to sense.

She should have seen it much earlier in his interactions with his older brother. His resentful, confrontative behaviour towards Mycroft, his way of searching for his attention and then pushing him away, the drugs, the maniacal way of carrying everything to the excess. Especially when he had teased his brother about his loneliness in her presence after returning from the dead, the way he had looked at him in this moment - she had been so blind.

And she was still ashamed of having misjudged Mycroft so badly, calling him a reptile, thinking he was heartless and cold while he was dying inside from the fear of losing the only person that mattered to him in this world. He had always been there for Sherlock, and he had loved him so deeply. And by God, she hoped this would always be that way. But what she would not give for seeing her boy once more, embracing him just one more time. But of course this one time would never be enough. She wanted to have him back, but she understood very well that it was impossible. He'd had to choose between a life in his familiar environment, solving cases, being the detective with the funny hat, forever having to hide his love for the one man he wasn’t allowed to love - and a life with him, in peace and without the fear of being discovered and condemned. Nobody could have expected him to choose the first possibility - she last of all. His happiness was what mattered most. And still… And still it hurt…

The doorbell startled her. Perhaps their lodgers who needed something? Slowly she walked to the door and opened it up. Yes, it was Ralph and Kenny. But instead of asking her for anything, they presented a huge bouquet of flowers.

“Happy birthday, Mrs Hudson,” Kenny, the teacher, said with a friendly smile. He had red hair and many freckles.

“Yes, happy birthday, and all the best to you!” his husband, blond and handsome, said and handed her the flowers.

“Oh how nice, thank you, but how did you know?”

“Because I told them,” Molly Hooper said, appearing between the two tall men. “Happy birthday from me as well.”

“And from me!” came the voice of Mycroft's lovely former assistant Miss Hunter.

“Oh, please, come in!”

“Don't worry, Mrs Hudson - we are not coming with empty hands. You won't have to do anything but enjoy,” the pathologist said, and Martha realised that the two women were carrying big baskets with dainties of all sorts. “Greg will bring the champagne, and John promised to get some bottles of wine. They will be here shortly. Kelly has to stay at home though; little Steve has colics and they didn't want to leave him with a babysitter.”

Martha felt overwhelmed when they entered her flat. The two women had not only brought a lot of food but also some fine sherry as a gift. They prepared the table in the living room and just asked her where everything was, but they didn't allow her to help. Soon after they had finished putting the sandwiches and salads onto the table, Greg Lestrade and John Watson arrived almost simultaneously, both bringing her gifts along with the alcohol and a few bottles of soft drinks and water - expensive chocolates in Greg's case, a beautiful, violet scarf in John's.

“Kelly chose it,” John explained when he handed it to her. “She would love to be here but our boy is not feeling too well.”

And John was not looking very well, she stated after thanking him and showing him in. Of course, with a baby that had colics, he wouldn't get much sleep, and two such small children were certainly generally a lot to cope with. But that didn't quite explain how pale he was and how his gaze was flickering, his lips tightened, his hair ruffled. It was obvious that he was still suffering from losing Sherlock. Suffering immensely. And she wished so much she could tell him that Sherlock had done it again. In an even crueller way than last time, his former best friend had let him believe that he was dead, being killed before his eyes on video. She was afraid that the doctor would never get over it. He was not happy, that was very easy to see. She looked over to Miss Hunter, feeling that the woman was staring at her. The brunette shook her head slightly, looking sad as well. Martha knew all too well that John and especially the handsome detective inspector could never know the truth. None of them would understand it.

Greg Lestrade looked very worn-out as well, as she noticed. “I don't know how long I'll be able to stay, Mrs Hudson,” he had told her when she had asked him in. “We have a serial killer who can do it again any time.”

She knew who he was talking about. Six women had been killed over the last four months. Each of them had been strangulated after somebody had cut off her little finger and the right sleeve. It didn’t make any sense, but it was the trademark of the killer. Nobody could understand why he did it that way. The one who might have understood was no longer there…

She shook off the horrible images and welcomed them all to the improvised party. She was very touched that they had all come here. Perhaps she was not all alone in this world after all.

*****

“The next one,” Anderson stated, completely unnecessarily.

“Yes,” Greg Lestrade mumbled, looking down at the body in front of him. A young woman, around twenty years old, just like the others. Her left little finger was missing, and so was the right sleeve of her pullover. Her coat was lying a couple of metres away, carelessly thrown away by her killer.

Greg was glad that he had only drunk coca cola and water at the party. He was not actually on duty in this night, but it was his case, and he just had to be here. Not that he really hoped to get a clue about this bastard this time. He didn't leave any traces, and the profilers were helpless. Why the little finger? Why the bloody sleeve? There was no rape involved, nothing else was taken away.

“God, I wish…” Anderson broke off. Even in the dark street - only lightened by the police headlights - he was looking worried and depressed.

A look that Greg's face was matching, as he knew very well. “Yes, I wish that, too,” he quietly said. He knew exactly what the forensic scientist meant.

Perhaps it wouldn't have helped them either. Perhaps not even the cleverest detective on earth could tell them anything about this maniac. But perhaps Sherlock would have only had to look at the body and told them the killer's name, his address and his shoe size by the way the body had been draped, explaining them that the murderer did what he did because he had been locked away in a cellar by his parents as a child. Greg didn't know and he would never find out. Because Sherlock was dead.

Somehow it still seemed unreal to him to never see him again. Even though he had seen him die. In the first weeks after his death, the video had followed him into his dreams, and every time he had woken up screaming his name, trying to save who couldn't be saved. And sometimes he had returned to Mycroft's house in his dreams, seeing him lying there on this stretcher dead again. And he would reach out his hand and touch his face, and the older Holmes brother would open his eyes and smile at him, but he would still be dead. He had been very grateful when these dreams had finally stopped haunting him…

He had seen so many dead bodies in his life, but none of them had meant anything to him. And the worst thing was that the Secret Service had indeed killed the man who had murdered Sherlock, but they had not found out where his body was, they could not bring him home to his parents. And what about his accomplice? What had been their motive? Of course, even if the MI5 had found anything out about it, they wouldn't tell him…

And then Mycroft. He would have never imagined that this strong, decent man would kill himself, and he wondered why. It had been so clear how much Sherlock had meant to him, his little brother that he had tried to protect all his life. Greg should have never left him alone. That the former government official had not actually been alone until he had sent the women away, didn't matter. He, Greg, should have been there, trying to comfort him, trying to explain why he just couldn't let him kill himself.

What had Mycroft expected? That he would watch him take his life, even if it was for saving Sherlock? Greg was still convinced that they would have killed Sherlock nevertheless. In any way they were both dead, and it was still weighing on his soul, the feeling of having let them down. He would never forgive himself for that. Because Sherlock had been more than the detective who had saved his arse so many times. He had been his friend. Despite all his flaws - his arrogance, his coldness at times, and his total lack of social skills that had seemed to have gotten better just to return with full force - Sherlock had been a really good man. Greg had admired him, and, in a rather fatherly way, he had loved him.

And he had loved Mycroft as well, albeit not in a fatherly manner. And he had not understood it until it had been too late. It had taken him weeks of thinking to realise it after the brothers had died. He would have probably never told him anyway. He was sure that Mycroft had never deduced it. They hadn't met very often over the years, and when they had, it had always been about their shared worries about Sherlock. And when John Watson had appeared in Sherlock's life, it had become even less. It hadn’t been necessary anymore when the doctor had started watching over Sherlock. And when John had disappeared from Sherlock's life again, Mycroft himself had been looking after the detective. They had apparently grown together, finally. And then they had died together, and Greg would never have the chance of telling Mycroft what he was feeling for him.

He didn't know how it had happened anyway. He had never had any interest in men. But then, no man he had ever met had been like the older Holmes brother. Both Holmes brothers in fact, but Sherlock had not appealed to him in this way at all. Mycroft had had his intelligence, his skills, without Sherlock's flaws. God, he remembered too well when Sherlock had solved the case of the robber who had stabbed himself accidentally. And Mycroft had solved it, too, just by a text from his brother. He had been simply amazing. He had had such an aura of coolness, of coldness, but when he had smiled, his blue eyes had been warm and friendly.

And Greg had not gotten it. Not before it had been much too late. He had no idea how Mycroft would have reacted if he had told him that he was interested in him. Had the man even had any interest in relationships? Greg couldn't tell. He did know how they had called him.  _ The Iceman _ . But in the end he had died because he had loved his brother. He had been capable of emotions. Very deep emotions. So maybe…

“Shall we get her in the morgue now?” Anderson interrupted his thoughts.

“Yes. I guess we have seen everything that needed to be seen.” Which was not much. He didn't have any illusions. They wouldn't find the killer if he didn't make a mistake and leave something at the crime scene that led directly to him.

“Maybe… maybe we could ask John Watson?” Anderson suggested.

Greg looked at him, confused. “What, you think just because he had worked with Sherlock, he kind of absorbed his skills?”

“Well, yes.”

“In this case, why don't we have them, too?”

“Yes, right, so probably it was a stupid idea.”

“Not stupid, I wish it would work that way.” He had hardly seen anything of John until this evening since they had seen Sherlock die together. Of course, he was mourning his friend, and now he had two little kids he had to deal with, plus his job at the hospital. Even if John could have helped them, Greg doubted that he would have tried. The man was very unhappy, it had been easy to see at the party. Or perhaps he would embrace the possibility to work with them again? Maybe it hadn't been such a bad idea. John was not Sherlock, but he was smart.

He watched the body disappear in the hearse, then he got into his car to drive to the morgue. Perhaps the pathologist could tell him something, just anything that helped him get hold of this monster. And then he would drive home and hopefully get some dreamless sleep. And tomorrow he would call John and ask him if he wanted to give it a try with helping them. And hell, they could maybe have a drink together, and even though he would never tell him about his feelings for Mycroft, they could speak about Sherlock. Perhaps it would help them both.

*****

John skipped showering, and after brushing his teeth, he entered the dark bedroom as quietly as he could, and even suppressed a scream when his little toe made contact with a chair. The house was totally silent. Kelly was sleeping tightly, her dark hair was spread like a fan on the white pillow. He wondered when Stevie had finally stopped crying. And when he would start again…

He closed his eyes and let himself sack into the pillows. He was so  _ tired _ . Not only because he hardly got any sleep, given the child that was crying almost the entire night. Every night… No, it was more. He loved his children - his sweet, always easy-to-handle Rosie, and the much more challenging little Steve James Sherlock Watson. But he was tired of his life. The job in the hospital, the routine, the neat house…

Kelly and he had married three months ago. His second wife was perfect - beautiful, smart, and friendly, everything a man could wish for. But he was not that man, and he should have known that from the start. They didn't argue, and she didn't put any pressure on him. She was supportive and always caring about him. And he only felt numb.

It was like sitting on that park bench with Mike Stamford again, feeling out of place, out of time, not knowing where to go with his feelings. Only that this time there was no Sherlock waiting around the corner. God, how he missed him… He had missed him even before he had died... He had missed their time together so badly.

For a few weeks, he had been feeling fine after he had moved in with Kelly; everything had been roses and rainbows and unicorns. But then he had become restless. And he had understood that he was missing his old life. Missing Sherlock, missing witnessing his cleverness, his brilliant mind, being annoyed by his unexplainable incompetence of understanding the feelings of other human beings, even his rudeness towards people who had bothered or bored him. But he had known there was no way back. Even if it hadn’t been for Kelly, Sherlock had made clear enough that he had not wanted him in his life anymore. He had even fled to his brother to avoid him.

It had hurt him so much. He had been so resentful to him when Sherlock had come to his house. Well, Kelly's house. And then so happy when they had reconciled in 221A on that last day. He could still almost feel Sherlock's embrace. His arms around his slim waist…

And then… He had seen people die in the war - people he had liked and respected. But it had been war in the end. Whoever went into war, knew and accepted the possibility that he might not return. He had mourned them, but in the end he had been able to live with it. But this… this had been so senseless, so unexpected, so horrible. Seeing Sherlock being captured in front of 221. Having to watch helplessly how his friend had been thrown into the car… If only he'd had his gun, he would have shot the attackers. So he could only stand there, frozen, knowing he would never reach them in time.

And then… Seeing him die, again. Only that this time it had been real. He had seen him fighting against his kidnappers, he had seen one of them shoot him. Had seen the blood under his head and the hole in his temple.

He would never forget it. He would never get over it.

And still he'd had to return to his new home. To his innocent daughter and his fiancée. And now he had a son, something he had always wanted to call his own. And he was married again. He could hardly recall the wedding. It had been short and simple. Just a few guests: Mrs Hudson, Molly, Kelly's parents, and his sister. Lestrade had not been available due to work obligations, trying to catch a serial killer. No best man speech this time. No best friend. He didn't recall the vow he had made. Didn't recall the kiss.

What a fool he had been. It had been Sherlock he had loved. Always Sherlock. How many times he had snarled:  _ Not Gay! _ when someone had hinted at a possible relationship between them. Had always denied that he was interested in Sherlock. Why hadn't he figured out his true feelings when Sherlock had allegedly died by jumping off that roof? He had had cried so many times after that, but still he had been so blind. When Sherlock had returned, John had still not known it, even though one should have expected that he'd had enough time to realise that and how he loved him by then. But he had passed his chance and instead had welcomed him with resentment and violence. Yes, he should have gotten physical, but in a very different way. Not even after Mary's death, he had understood it; instead he had pushed him away again and again. Had, dear God, even hit him again! Hurt him physically! And Sherlock had never hit back, of course not, he had been aware of his feelings for John. And he had forgiven him. Had embraced him, held him. But John had still not gotten it, oh no. He never had. How foolishly he had reacted on that playground when Sherlock's feelings for him had been so obvious. He should have grabbed and kissed him. But he hadn't known it, not even then. Hell, at the party at Baker Street, he had reacted to his touch when Sherlock had reached into his shirt. And still he hadn't understood it. Sherlock had always been right, he  _ was _ an idiot…

Much too late he had finally understood their instant, deep chemistry and his urge to shoot that cab driver on the first day, to protect Sherlock from harm. He had loved him from the start, exactly like Sherlock had loved him from day one.

He registered that he was crying. What would he not give for turning back the time to that night after shooting the cabbie, that first night together. For accepting right away that what he had felt for Sherlock had not been instant friendship but love at first sight. They could have been a couple for so many years now. They would be so happy. Sherlock wouldn't have gone away to fool Moriarty. They would have found another solution. He wouldn't have gotten so close to his brother and therefore they wouldn't have killed him to punish Mycroft. And if Lestrade and he hadn't kept Mycroft from shooting himself, perhaps they would have set Sherlock free…

_What if, what if…_ The tears were rolling freely now. Nothing would bring Sherlock back. This time he didn't even have a grave he could cry at (even though it had been empty). What was he supposed to do now? How should he go on living with his feelings? He would call Lestrade in the morning, he decided. He had realised that the DI was not happy either. He was also suffering immensely because of Sherlock's and Mycroft's deaths. John had avoided him over the past months, figuring that talking about this huge loss would hurt him even more. But perhaps that had been stupid as well. If Greg was up to it, he would meet up with him and talk about it. Maybe it would help them both.

He stood up from the bed and walked to the window, still crying quietly. He looked outside, seeing the stars in the sky. Was Sherlock somewhere outside? Watching over the people he had left behind? And was Mycroft with him? He realised that it would comfort him. Mycroft had loved Sherlock, so much that he had followed him into death. Because he had blamed himself for what had happened to his brother. John had never believed in such things, but he hoped that he was still watching over him and would be for eternity.

“John?” Kelly's sleepy voice startled him. “What are you doing there?” Both of them sighed when they heard a quiet whining from the room next to theirs. It wouldn’t stay quiet for very long… The silence of the night was over. And not only that. Time to face reality.

He slowly turned around. “Kelly, I want a divorce.”


	39. Epilogue 3 - Five years later, Brazil

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter; a glimpse on the life of our boys five years later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The beginning of this chapter is rather tough. But it will end with some severe smut and a nice amount of fluff!
> 
> Well, I hope you enjoyed my story. Thanks to everyone who took the time to comment, or left kudos. 
> 
> I´m currently writing a prequel to this story - showing how much Sherlock and Mycroft suffered from their unspoken feelings for each other. It will be a lot less cheerful of course. Anyway, thanks for your attention!

“He's just wonderful!” Mr Joshua Patterson from Texas said reverently and rubbed his hands against each other.

The tall man with the black moustache and the back-combed, black hair, who had introduced himself to him as Senor Carlos Morales, nodded. He was wearing an ivory-coloured suit and big sunglasses. “Shall my man let him out of the cage or do you want to shoot him right in there?” He spoke English with a strong Portuguese accent.

Patterson licked his thin lips. “What will be more fun?”

 _Shove the gun up your arse and fire_ , Sherlock thought but kept a straight face, suppressing his disgust. He very much admired how Mycroft's expression stayed cool and calm as if they were talking about the weather; he even smiled slightly. He twisted the false moustache at one end and said: “If you choose to kill it in the cage, I will give you this gun here, it has a .22 calibre and you will be able to shoot him into pieces. If you want to finish him outside, you need this .57 calibre as you might not want to have it at your throat.”

“Oh, this is so exciting!” the beautiful girl at Mycroft's arm screamed and threw her long, black hair back. She was wearing a very short, white dress and high heels that seemed to be totally out of place in the jungle but stressed her endlessly-long legs. Patterson had almost eaten her up with his eyes but he hadn't said anything inappropriate. Perhaps he was a little afraid of his host…

Sherlock was standing next to them and had to bite his bottom lip when he saw Nina reaching out and slapping Mycroft's arse. His man's mouth twitched a bit but due to the black sunglasses, Sherlock could not see the look in his eyes. He could imagine Tony's look though… But he was hidden behind some bushes and was filming them.

“Alright, give me the smaller gun,” the fat, white-haired poaching-tourist said.

Mycroft gave Sherlock an arrogant wave, and Sherlock grabbed the expected weapon and handed it over to the poacher. He ripped it out of his hand and stalked to the cage, where a huge jaguar was lying, looking up to him, bored and rather blasé, or so it seemed at least.

The man aimed the gun at the majestic animal and fired. Or not. There was a muffled bang and that was it. The jaguar didn't even blink.

“Fuck, what is wrong with your fucking weapon?” Patterson hissed. “I paid you two-hundred thousand dollars and you give me such a crap?”

“I'm sorry,” Mycroft answered, his voice so cold that it gave even Sherlock shudders. Shudders that went directly into his groin… “Perhaps you want to kill him with your bare hands then.”

On that cue, Sherlock opened up the gate of the cage, and the huge cat, having looked tired and harmless a minute before, jumped out and stretched his back, showing all its sharp teeth when it yawned. And it had plenty of them…

“God, no, what are you _doing_?” the man screamed, walking backwards, his face now as white as his hair.

“Arresting you,” Mycroft retorted and touched the impressive head of the jaguar, that had graciously walked over to him.

And then five policemen were around Mr Patterson, and the noise of closing handcuffs made Sherlock grin. Of course, he would have liked the echoing of a gunshot much better.

“You were so good, Uncle Ernesto!” Nina, who had been introduced to their guest as Angelique, clapped her hands and beamed at Mycroft.

“Ernesto!” Patterson hissed while Sherlock thought: _false name of the day_. Last time she had come up with Cristiano. She was really great at improvising. Their actual false names were never told to any of these bastards of course. Double safety…

“That's my real name,” Mycroft explained coolly. “It was so not a pleasure to meet you, Mr Patterson. Have fun in prison!”

“You lured me here, I didn't even want that!”

“Shut up,” one of the policemen said. “We saw and heard enough. Let's go.” He nodded to Mycroft, who gave him a smile.

The three of them watched this poor excuse for a human being getting carried away to the waiting helicopter. As soon as they had disappeared, Sherlock stepped to Mycroft and put an arm around his waist. “You are getting better and better, honey. I remember how you once said that fieldwork was not your natural milieu. But now it is.”

Mycroft ripped off his false moustache, pressed Sherlock close, and they kissed. “Thank you, darling. But I'm surrounded by great actors. Our stunning starlet Nina, the most dangerous looking lap cat in the world, and of course my beautiful bodyguard and assistant. So the show just had to be great.”

“Well done!” Tony's voice startled them. He came out of the bushes with a content grin. “It's all on camera.” Then he turned to Nina. “And now to you. If I catch you doing that ever again, I'll send you to a convent!”

She rolled her big, brown eyes. “Oh please, I'm twenty-one! Do you really think I've never…”

“Don't even think of finishing this sentence!” Tony hissed, and Sherlock grinned. As much as Tony was a very sexual man, judging by Oscar's happy smile whenever they met, he apparently refused to accept his grown-up daughter as a sexual being.

He stored the gun that the American had not chosen into the bag he had brought, and lifted it up. The other one was in the hands of the police now. He shoved his hand in Mycroft's and felt it being pressed. It was amazing that after all this time they had been together, this simple gesture still made his heart swell. And actually not only his heart...

They started walking to the car that would bring them home - their fingers entwined - while Nina and her father were bickering in front of them. Tito, the jaguar that had been raised by the organisation after losing his mother to a poacher, was walking peacefully at Mycroft's other side. He didn't need a collar and a leash, he would never run away. And he was no danger to people, no matter how much they deserved it.

“It totally turned me on, you know, seeing the Iceman again,” Sherlock whispered.

Mycroft looked at him with a grin. “It did, huh? It was hard to play that role, having you standing beside me in these sinfully tight jeans.”

“You may pull them down as soon as we are at home,” Sherlock assured him. He was still exercising every day; his arms were huge now and so were his thighs. But most important to him was making his arse look as great as possible, and it did pay out. When he was walking in front of Mycroft, he could literally feel him staring at it, knowing exactly what he was thinking ( _God, I want to touch it lick it fuck it_ ), and it made him feel awesome.

Mycroft put off his sunglasses and winked at him. “I should hope so. I think I deserve a reward for the nasty role I just had to play.”

“I absolutely agree. I wish Tito could have eaten him, starting at his feet.”

“Nice picture. I might do that to you. So to speak…”

They were approaching the car now. “I can't wait.” Sherlock let Tito jump into the trunk, then he took place on the backseat next to Nina, while Mycroft was entering the passenger seat.

“That was great, especially his dumb face when Tito came to him,” Nina said cheerily when the car started moving. Tony and Mycroft were talking about the successful operation, but Sherlock didn't take part in the conversation. He just put a hand on Mycroft's shoulder and pressed it tenderly. A second later Mycroft's hand was on his. Something was missing on them: they had left their weddings rings at home. These were the only occasions when they had to take them off, and his hand felt naked without it.

“Oh yes,” he agreed. “But Nina…” he said very quietly, letting go of Mycroft's hand so he could lean back.

“Yes?” She looked at him with a smile.

“If you touch my man like that again, you will wish you´d have really become a nun…” He smiled as well and his tone was light, but there had to be something in his eyes or his voice that showed the young woman that he was not entirely joking.

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Good. How's the uni going?”

“Um, great.” She seemed to be a little unsure.

“Sounds good.” Sherlock leaned his head back and closed his eyes, content that he had made his point. Nobody was groping Mycroft except for him… and he had every intention to actually do that very soon.

*****

The past five years had gone by so fast. So much had happened; they had been so busy but also had had spent so much time together. Mark and Steve Gorman were as happy a couple as they had been when they had come to Brazil.

Sherlock could still remember the first time when they had walked hand in hand in public. Both of them had been aware that - despite the liberal laws - homosexual men were still facing violence in this country. So they had kept some distance at first when they had spent time in Paraty or Rio de Janeiro. But very quickly they had discovered that people were making space when they walked by - two tall, broad men with an aura of arrogance and power - and eventually Mycroft had taken Sherlock's hand in front of all people. It had felt so great. They didn't have to hide their love anymore, and Sherlock was so grateful for that.

A couple of times they had visited gay nightclubs in one of the big cities. Mycroft had apparently not really liked the loud music, and there was no way that he would dance to hip-hop, but when he had kissed Sherlock for everybody to watch, his knees had gotten weak from pleasure. He was very aware of the jealous looks all around them, and they were directed at both of them.

Finally Mycroft had had a nose operation, saying it would make him less recognisable. Now his nose had a common length, and while Sherlock was missing the long tip that had rubbed at his cheek so nicely during kissing, he had to admit that it had made Mycroft look even more handsome. His hair was still full and black after the transplant, the daily training and the vegan food had let him lose the rest of his body fat, and his heart - regularly checked by a highly respected doctor - was doing fine. He had given up drinking alcohol entirely and had instead settled with coconut water or just pure mineral water or coca cola. What would have sounded boring and prude to other people, was making him and Sherlock happy instead. Sherlock wanted him to be healthy above all, and he enjoyed the desiring looks that Mycroft received by other gay men or women. They were allowed to look at him and drool, but they better kept their hands off of him…

When they came home after a visit to the city, Sherlock usually pulled him under the outdoor shower that Mycroft had installed in their garden - the view protected by tight vegetation - and he hardly allowed him to undress first before ravishing him under the pattering water. They made love very often outside, either under the shower or just in the pouring rain.

The house was theirs now so they could (and did) have sex when and where they wanted inside of it as well. Oscar had moved in with Tony four months after Mycroft had spoken with the Brazilian. Nina had been very happy about it as it had made Tony a very happy man. She was not living with them anymore since two years now as she studied veterinary medicine and lived on the campus of the university in Rio de Janeiro. But she came home as often as she could and seemed to feel totally relaxed with Oscar as her father's partner. The cats had been more hesitant about sharing their home with two big dogs all at once. But they had obviously accepted that they didn't have a choice, and one of them was even caught cuddling with Billy and Bobby now from time to time.

Lucky was not the only dog that lived with Mycroft and Sherlock anymore. Three other rescues (Lolly, Limbo and Lucifer) had moved in with them, and Lucky was a very happy dog. Of course he saw Billy and Bobby every day as well, as the four men were working together on a daily basis in their fight for a better life for the animals of Brazil.

Inevitably, there were rumours in the dark net about this organisation that was setting traps and having poachers arrested by the police, but none of them ever got to know who they were, and Sherlock was thinking of different scenarios to lure them to Brazil all the time. Sometimes they found a man or, in rare cases, a woman who was interested in shooting a protected animal for the first time. In this case Tony informed the airport police beforehand, and when they entered the country, they were taken in at once and told that they should refrain from living out these disgusting desires. The police seemed to be quite convincing as it worked each time. But if they found someone with a history of poaching, they were deceived to be caught in the act, facing jail time in one of the hardest prisons in the world.

Mycroft used to work on strategies for protecting animals of all sorts, as well as the precious environment. In the part of Brazil they were living at, the jungle was still very prominent, but the dangers were all over the country.

So they were leading a life full of challenges and a work that was very important to them. But most of all, they had a life full of love. They still desired each other tremendously, and while there had been some days when they had been too exhausted or just not in the mood to have sex, they had always cuddled and kissed, and there had not been a single night they had not spent together or a single day they had not said _I love you_ to each other.

Two months ago they had sat on their veranda together, alone except for the dogs, holding hands and each of them sipping at an ice-cold coca cola.

“Do you ever wonder what happened to John, Martha and the others?” Mycroft had asked him.

Sherlock had shrugged. “Sometimes. But we did agree on leaving our old lives behind completely.” He had sounded a bit defensive to his own ears, and Mycroft had pressed his hand.

“Honey, of course there's no turning back. I don't want that at all. And I would never risk our new identities. But a little research on the social media or Google would certainly not do any harm.”

“Perhaps you would find out things you wouldn't want to know.” Like people had died…

“That could be.” Mycroft had looked at him and stroked his face, realising that Sherlock was stupidly feeling somewhat betrayed by his wish. “Forget it, Sherlock, it was not a good idea.” They had kissed and soon enough they had been in bed together, and Sherlock had felt that Mycroft was putting extra effort in pleasing him. He had enjoyed the caresses and had felt silly to mind Mycroft's interest in the people they had left behind. He wondered how often his husband had thought about it already.

The next afternoon Mycroft had gone over to Tony to discuss a few matters, and Sherlock had stayed in their house as his presence had not been required, and he had told Mycroft that he would prepare dinner in the meantime. He had done exactly that and then he had done some research. With more or less surprising results.

Both of their parents had died; their mother soon after their alleged deaths, their father two years later. It was nothing to be found about their sister, which was good news. It probably meant that she was still locked away in Sherrinford.

John Watson lived in a flat outside of London, and he had his own doctor's office around the corner. He was divorced and his two children lived with him. His former wife was remarried to a policeman.

Greg Lestrade had become Chief Inspector; he had not married anyone but he shared his house with a woman with a doctor's degree in psychology.

Anthea Hunter worked as a life coach, also in her own office. She shared her house, formerly Mycroft's house in fact, with Molly Hooper, who was in charge at St. Bart's like before. Molly's Facebook profile said that they had two cats, and it showed many pictures of the happy couple. Sherlock wondered if she had created her profile for everyone to see because she hoped that he would search for her one day.

Martha Hudson still lived at 221A Baker Street. 221B belonged to a gay couple - a teacher and a banker. _Boring_ , Sherlock had thought. But he had to admit that of all those people, Martha was the only one he was truly missing. She was a very old lady now, and soon enough she would follow their parents.

“You should call her,” Mycroft had startled him, looking over his shoulder.

Sherlock had turned around and asked for a kiss with his eyes. Of course he had gotten it. “I can't, Mycie. It's not safe.”

“Oscar will provide you with the safest line on earth. The call will go twice around the world. But nobody will even notice it, honey, or do you really think they are keeping her phone line under surveillance?”

Sherlock had shrugged. “I don't know. I would like to but…”

“You don't have to decide that now. What about the others?” His eyes had been asking: _Do I want to know?_

“Good news about Lestrade…” Sherlock had told him about Greg's fate, and also about Anthea and John.

Mycroft had listened with a smile. His expression had turned earnest after Sherlock had been finished. “Our parents are dead, aren’t they?”

“Yes. For some years already.”

Mycroft had nodded but not said anything. Sherlock had finally stood up and put his hands on both sides of his neck. “You don't regret it, do you? Going away?” _Letting them believe we are dead, not attending their funerals… I certainly don't…_

“Oh baby,” Mycroft had said, shaking his head, ”do you really have to ask?”

“Show me,” Sherlock had replied simply, and Mycroft had taken him by the hand and led him to their bedroom, and the evening had ended with kissing and touching and making love for two hours without much talking. And the next morning they had not spoken about it again.

*****

When they arrived on Tony's property, the Brazilian locked Tito in his generous preserve after pressing a kiss on his huge head. Tony didn't like at all to use him in such a way, forcing him to be the bait for heartless, disgusting people, but he had agreed that this was the best way, and the big cat didn't seem to suffer from it at all.

Then they went to the house where they were welcomed by Oscar and company. He had looked after the pets which meant being the sitter for six dogs of all sizes as well as three cats. Surely he'd had a funny day. Their four dogs and Billy and Bobby had all come to the door and welcomed them with extended tail-wagging and hand-licking. The cats were above such humiliating behaviour of course and had stayed in the house.

“So everything went fine?” the hacker asked with a happy grin after having a received a kiss and a tight embrace from Tony.

“Yep,” Sherlock said. “Mycroft was great. My sweet, sexy Iceman!” He giggled when Mycroft ruffled his hair, or what was left of it.

“You have to excuse him, it always drives him crazy when I'm irresistibly cool,” he said with a wink.

“Cool and hot,” Sherlock purred and pinched his arse.

“Ouch! Seems it's _Grope-Mycroft's-Butt-Day_ today.”

Oscar looked at Tony with narrowed eyes, but his husband shook his head vehemently. “Not me!”

The hacker glanced over to Nina, who was uncharacteristically silent. “Oh, I see. Playing your role very convincingly, were you?” He shook his head with a grin. “Have you already heard the sermon?” he asked with a meaningful glance at his partner.

“She has,” Tony growled. “Not that it helps.”

Nina had blushed hard, and Oscar was a little surprised as it seemed. “Don't worry, you won't really have to go into a convent,” he assured her. “They would never take a girl whose father is married to a man.”

“Ah, you are all brats,” Tony mumbled and Mycroft laughed.

“Alright boys, Nina, we'll leave you to your evening now.”

“Yes,” Sherlock agreed. “The Iceman's husband wants some alone time with him.”

“Sounds like a plan,” Oscar said with a wink. “But you're sure that you don't want to stay for dinner? I made enough for all of us.”

“Thank you, Oscar,” Mycroft said, “but we have some leftovers from lunch, and I want to relax now.”

“Not that he will,” Sherlock threw in. “But perhaps I'm kind, and in two or three hours he might be allowed to get some rest.”

Mycroft shot him an amused glance. “Well, if I don't show up tomorrow morning, you'll know what happened…”

“Yes, I rode him to death,” Sherlock said bluntly.

Nina was having enough now; she mumbled a good night and disappeared into the house.

Tony laughed. “Alright, have fun.”

“Oh, we will,” Sherlock assured him and took his husband's hand. “See you tomorrow. Boys, let's go!”

Hand in hand they started walking off to their house. The dogs were running around them and Lucky was carrying his beloved ball. He still loved to chase after it, although he didn't want to play for hours and hours anymore. Sherlock thought with fear about the day when they would lose him; the other three were a lot younger but even though he loved them a lot, Lucky had a special place in his heart.

“You didn't like that, did you?” Mycroft asked while they were walking slowly.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock was all big, innocent eyes.

“Please. You know exactly what I'm talking about.” Mycroft stood and embraced his waist. “You must have said something to her in the car - I've never seen her so shy. In fact she was afraid of you.” He sounded rather amused.

“I just made a little joke,” Sherlock said and closed his eyes in pleasure when Mycroft bent over and kissed him on the lips.

“A joke, yes. God, I love it when you're jealous, even if you scare harmless little girls.”

“Jealous? Why would I be jealous? You are not interested in women at all, and she just did it for the ruse and perhaps because you have a great arse.” The last words had come out a tiny bit angry, Sherlock realised.

“Indeed, Sherlock! I'm not interested in her! And for the record: I doubt that she really liked to touch my old bum.”

“Of course she did,” Sherlock growled. “But I'm not jealous!”

“You're so cute,” Mycroft said with a smile; he pressed him close and then took his hand again. “Let's go, I guess you will want to possess me now to show me and prove to yourself that I'm yours.”

“I don't need to prove that!” Sherlock protested. “But yes, I did think of taking you. But that has nothing to do with jealousy!”

“If you say so,” Mycroft said with a grin that made Sherlock furious.

“And why would you like me being jealous?”

“Because you are the most gorgeous man on earth, now more than ever, and besides having been polished up a little, I'm still my boring, old self.” His last words sounded a little sad.

“God, Mycroft! After all this time you still think I'm too hot for you?”

Mycroft gave him a wry smile. “It was supposed to be a joke, but of course you can see through that. Yes, I guess a part of me will always think that.”

They had reached their property, and Sherlock shushed the dogs into the house, but instead of following them, he dragged Mycroft into the garden. It was full of wild flowers; during the day huge butterflies and exotic birds could be seen everywhere, and now, in the twilight, a few bats were flying over the small lake in the middle of it. It was the most beautiful place on earth for Sherlock, and he loved making love to Mycroft there, under the shower or in the high grass. The latter was not without dangers, given the snakes that could hide there, but they used to be very careful and make it swift. But of course they did it outside mostly after coming from events like the one today, horny and eager to go at it, and it never took them long to come all over or into each other.

Now Sherlock pulled Mycroft close and stroked his face tenderly, looking into his stunning, blue eyes. “It's not fair. You know we both had our insecurities. I thought you would never give up your life in England and go away with me, and you thought you were not attractive enough for me. You have proven me wrong, but what can I do to finally convince you that you are wrong, too? You can feel my dick is hard just from being pressed against yours, can't you, and I make love to you all the time because it gets hard for you every fucking day. I tell you how wonderful and handsome you are and how much I love you every day, and I freak out when someone dares touch you in front of me, even if it's a woman who probably sees you as her uncle. I made a vow to you and I'm wearing your ring, and it almost kills me when I have to take it off like today and we are forced to behave as if we weren't husbands. What else do you need to believe me that to me you are the most gorgeous, most exciting and most desirable man on earth?”

“I'm sorry, I lost it when you mentioned your hard dick.” Both of them laughed, and then Mycroft pressed his forehead against Sherlock's and kissed his nose. “I know I demand a lot of patience from you. But the fact of the matter is, you can't erase the hurt you suffered in your youth, the experiences you made, the picture you have of yourself. I know I look better than I ever have with the smaller nose, the full hair and the muscles, and I know you love me and desire me, and believe me I'm so bloody grateful for it. But a small part - and it has gotten smaller already - will always have doubts, will always think you're too gorgeous for me. I'm afraid there's nothing you can do except just being yourself and love me as long as you do love me, tell me how you feel about me, make love to me, and allow me to drool about you being jealous. I would never make you jealous deliberately, never, but if it happens because of what someone else does, let me just enjoy it. And believe me, you don't have a reason to be jealous because there's exactly one human I have ever loved, and ever will love, and that's you.”

Sherlock blinked away the tears that had built up in his eyes. “Oh Mycie, I'm sorry for the hurt I caused you when you were young - mocking you with your weight problems, making jokes about your nose. But I can tell you when I will stop loving you - it will be when the sun falls onto the earth.”

“So in two billion years?”

“Perhaps three billion.”

Their lips met for a kiss - a kiss full of reassurance, love, and desire. Sherlock's hands pulled Mycroft's shirt out of his trousers and then slid over his back, then one of them slipped into his trousers, palming a firm cheek, and then found the crack, and Mycroft moaned into his mouth when Sherlock was rubbing his entrance, and he was grinding his dick against Sherlock's, both equally hard. Sherlock pulled Mycroft's trousers and briefs down and massaged the swollen knob until his hand was wet from Mycroft's pre-cum. Then his finger found his hole again, slick this time, and he let it slide into him.

“My God, that's so hot,” Mycroft mumbled, his breath warm on Sherlock's face.

“Yes, it is hot, perhaps you might want to take a shower now?”

“Oh yes, please.”

Sherlock took his hand and they walked to the outdoor shower. Both of them got rid of their clothes - throwing them into the grass - and then Sherlock put on the spray, and they gasped when the cold water hit them. But they were used to it, and it did nothing to cool off their desire.

Sherlock put it off for the moment and took the body wash, and soon they were full of foam, rubbing it all over the other one's body but washing their own hair as this was something they rather took care of themselves. The water washed the foam away then, and Sherlock stepped close to Mycroft and kissed him again while the spray was going down on them. Their kisses were deep and demanding, their tongues almost fighting with each other, showing their urge not to dominate the other one but to please him as thoroughly as possible. Finally Sherlock broke the kiss and switched off the water that would wash away what shouldn't end anywhere but in Sherlock's mouth, and he let his hands run over his husband's upper body, teasing the nipples as they went, and he slowly got down, lapping over the wet skin, his lips pulling on the chest hair, his teeth biting the nipples carefully, his tongue playing with Mycroft's navel, and then he was on his knees and the tip of his tongue was pressed into the tiny slit of Mycroft's fully-stiff prick. It never failed to make his lover moan and it didn't this time, either.

Nobody was waiting for them (the dogs had been fed by Oscar and had water waiting for them) and Sherlock took his time. He worshipped Mycroft's dick with all he had, exploring the texture and the taste as if it was the first time. While his mouth was occupied, his hands were playing with the heavy balls, tugging at them - sometimes very lightly, sometimes harder and sometimes almost brutally - just the way his husband loved it. Sherlock moaned in pleasure every time a drop of pre-ejaculate escaped the slit and could be licked up, and he loved to hear the matching moan from Mycroft whenever he did devour the tasty fluid. He would never get over how great Mycroft tasted, and he would never get enough of it. And he loved how Mycroft's big hands felt on his almost shaven head. No thick curls were between the heat of his man's hands and the thin, sensitive skin on his head anymore, and it felt awesome to be rubbed and massaged there. It was a turn-on as much as having his cock sucked, and he finally fully understood his urge to shave off his hair, and he knew that Mycroft had gotten that, too. The curls had been between them in every way - as a symbol for being Sherlock Holmes, the clever detective who could never be allowed to love his brother, and literally coming between Mycroft's caresses and his skin.

He didn't want to make Mycroft come so fast, and he knew that he had to stop sucking his cock now. “Turn around, baby,” he quietly said, and Mycroft did so and then his arse was in front of his face. Mycroft was holding onto the shower, and Sherlock carefully spread his cheeks and licked him inside the crack, from the balls to the hole and beyond it several times until he started licking in circles around the wrinkled entrance and then, with the help of his fingers, into him. He licked and sucked and lapped and slurped and Mycroft's loud moans and grunts were completing the symphony.

“Take me now, Sherlock, please.” Mycroft grabbed for the lube that was stored next to the shower and handed it to him.

“Alright, so you're ready to feel my dick now?”

“God, yes, I'm so ready.”

“You want it deep inside you?” Sherlock squeezed some lemon-flavoured lube into his hand.

“Oh yes, really deep.” He moaned again when Sherlock rubbed the sticky fluid into his hole.

“You want my dick? Only mine?” Sherlock took his hard member in his hand and lubed it up as well, then he pressed it against the waiting hole.

“Only yours, baby. Oh, fuck…”

“Yes, that's what I'll do now.” And he did. It was almost totally dark now around them, but not silent as the noises of the jungle only got louder when the sun went down, and they were adding some noises with the clashing of Sherlock's hips against Mycroft's arse-cheeks, with loud moans and hissing the other one's name.

Sherlock, who had fucked Mycroft with closed eyes for minutes, looked down and watched his dick sliding in and halfway out of Mycroft's hole, and he pulled it out completely just to see it disappear again, the sight almost driving him mad. The feeling of the tight muscle around his sensitive, flushed flesh was almost too much to bear, and he was very close to coming much too soon for his taste. He could feel his balls tighten and whispered _I love you, Mycie_ when the waves of joy were crashing through his body, and then his head started spinning, and he came with a scream that was louder than the monkeys in the trees nearby, and while he was still shooting his sperm out, he pulled his dick out of Mycroft's arse and spilled the rest over his hairy cheeks. Holding onto Mycroft's hips, he let himself sack on his knees, licking the white drops off his arse and caught the ones that were dripping out of him when he straightened up as well.

“God, that's so fucking hot,” Mycroft murmured, beating off frantically with his right hand, facing him now with Sherlock still being on his knees, and then Sherlock stuck out his tongue and was fed with Mycroft's thick, sticky release within mere seconds. He was pulled onto his feet a moment later, and their mouths met for another hungry kiss. Mycroft's tongue slid into his mouth and he willingly shared what he had not swallowed down yet.

Then Mycroft reached out to put on the shower again, and the cold water washed away the sweat and the stickiness, and they were holding each other as tight as they could - kissing once more, melting into each other's taste and flavour, and it was all about love and satisfaction and promising to always cherish what they had.

“Let's go inside now, honey. Time to get some rest,” Mycroft finally said.

“Are the three hours already over?” Sherlock teased him, and he smiled.

“Not really, but if you let me rest now, you will get some dessert later. And I'm hungry now.”

“Sure, baby,” Sherlock hurried to assure him. “We don't want you to starve. You are still needed.”

“Don't worry, there's no danger there,” Mycroft said dryly, and Sherlock rolled his eyes.

“You don't think you are overweight, do you? Because if you do, I might sentence you to death by tickling.”

“Oh, in this case I'm totally slim and trained and in dire need of food.”

“Well, that's exactly what you are!”

Mycroft grinned. “I'm just teasing you, Sherlock. I like to do that, you know.” They had made their way into the house, and the dogs were immediately there to greet them.

“I'd have never thought,” Sherlock growled, but he winked at him while he was touching furry heads. “So what will I get for dessert?”

“I think we still have a piece of that chocolate cake.” Vegan chocolate cake it was, and it was surprisingly delicious.

“That was not the dessert I had in mind,” Sherlock complained nevertheless.

They had reached the living room, and Sherlock sat down on the comfortable sofa that had seen them making love countless times. Both of them were still completely naked.

“No? What do you want instead then?” Mycroft took place next to him and laid a hand on his thigh.

“As if you didn’t know. I want your cum!”

“But you already had some as appetizer!”

“I could have it all day.”

“Is it actually vegan?” Mycroft asked and wrinkled his forehead. “You know, perhaps we can't even eat it anymore.”

“It doesn't matter if it's not vegan,” Sherlock lectured. “We don't eat animals, and it's definitely human.”

“You know, in this case the poachers could serve as our food in future! Then they would finally have a purpose!”

Sherlock shuddered. “This is disgusting!”

Mycroft laughed out loud. “Says the men who could eat semen all day. And actually does!”

Sherlock grinned at him. “That's something different. I love you, Mycie.”

The smile in Mycroft's eyes deepened. “And I love you. Always and forever.” He bent over and they kissed, but then the older man got up. “Let's get some shorts on now and see if we find something to eat. I'm really starving now. Having sex with you is hard work.”

“Work that you enjoy doing tremendously.”

“That I do!”

*****

After dinner they returned to the couch to watch the news. Mycroft sat down and Sherlock lay flat on the sofa, his head resting on Mycroft's thigh. He closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of long fingers caressing his head and face. He didn't pay much attention to the telly with the usual tales about terror attacks, wars and other depressing news.

He had started dozing off when Mycroft turned off the television.

“Sherlock, I forgot to tell you, Oscar gave me a SIM card yesterday.”

“What for? Your phone works fine.”

“He did something with this number. The calls we might do with it could never be traced back, and it can't be called from anybody.”

“Oh. I see.”

“We don't have to use it, baby. But perhaps you might want to do it someday. And I think it's a good thing to have anyway.”

“Yes.”

They were silent for a moment. Mycroft was still playing with Sherlock's hair and sometimes tickled his ear.

“I would like to call Martha,” Sherlock admitted. “She deserves to know how we are doing, don't you think?”

“Yes, she definitely does. Do it now, maybe she's at home. Do you want me to leave you alone?”

“Mycie! You're my pillow, you are not going anywhere!”

“Sorry, of course.” He leaned to his side and grabbed his phone from the table next to the sofa; then he handed it to Sherlock. “I have changed the cards when you were on the loo.”

“So you just knew that I would do it?”

He smiled. “I just thought it's nice to be prepared. And I would have wanted you to lose your pillow, even for five minutes.”

“Very thoughtful.” Sherlock looked at the phone, still unsure if he should do it or not. He did remember Martha's number of course. Then he made a decision. With a sigh he typed the number in and held the phone to his ear after touching the dial-icon.

_“Hello?”_

“Don't say my name, Martha.”

 _“Oh my God!_ ”

“Yes, you may call me that.” He smiled and looked up to Mycroft, who smiled back with a playful eye-rolling and tenderly stroked over his cheek.

_“My boy! I can't believe it!”_

“Are you alone?”

_“Oh yes, of course. How are you?”_

“I'm fine, Martha, we are fine. What about you?”

_“I'm so happy now! And I can hear that you are, too.”_

“Yes, very much so. I thought I'll just let you know that we are going strong.”

_“Thank you so much for doing that. I miss you so much.”_

“I know, and I miss you, too. But you know you may not tell anybody.”

_“Of course not. Oh, there's so much to say, about John, he got divorced, you know, it was so sad. He misses you so much. And… But I know how it is, my dear. And I'm so glad that you didn't forget me.”_

“Of course I didn’t, I owe you so much. My husband says hi, too.”

He held the phone up and Mycroft said with a smile: “Hello Martha. It's good to hear that you are doing well.”

_“Now I am.”_

Sherlock put the mobile to his ear again. “We need to stop now, Martha. I don't know if I can call you again. But be assured I will never forget you. You are the mother I've always wanted to have. I wish we didn't have to leave you behind like that.”

_“You had no choice. I love you, my boy. Thank you so much, and please take care.”_

“I will. All the best for you. Goodbye.”

_“Goodbye, love.”_

Sherlock ended the connection and put the phone on the table. He was glad he had called her. He just hoped it wouldn't have any unforeseen consequences.

“It's all fine, honey,” Mycroft said. “Nobody will ever know where we are, and that we are alive. You can call her from time to time if you want.”

Sherlock nodded. “Can we go to bed now?”

“You're tired, I know.”

“Not too tired, Mycie.” He got up and held out his hand.

Mycroft took it with a grin and let him pull him on his feet. “I feared that you would say that.”

Sherlock made no attempt to walk off. Instead he slung his arms around Mycroft's neck and looked into his eyes. “I love you, Mycie.”

Mycroft embraced his waist tightly. “And I love you.”

“Promise me that this will never change.”

He was graced with a tender kiss on his lips. “I promise. I love you from here to the sky and back. And I will always do.”

Sherlock allowed himself to get lost in a long, wonderful kiss, feeling his man's hand slide over his back and butt. His dick was swelling again, and he could feel the echoing reaction in Mycroft's trousers. He pulled back when it got hard to breathe. “Will you make love to me now?”

“Yes. Let's go upstairs. I can't wait to slip into you. Merge with you. Possess you.”

Sherlock shuddered. “My God. How much I want you - it's not normal.”

Mycroft chuckled. “Normal is not quite the word I'd use to describe us anyway.”

“I love you so much.” Sherlock just had to say it again. And hear it again.

“Yes, and I love you. My man, my husband…”

“…my everything.”

The End


End file.
